When street names become political. Klaus Dodds examines the trend of changing street names to make other nations uncomfortable

If you live in Bristol or Glasgow, you are surrounded by a near-constant reminder of past wealth creation and some of the notable individuals that made it possible. We have a Jamaica Street in Glasgow and a Colston Street in Bristol, named after a slave trader called Edward Colston (see last issue’s Discovering Britain). Presently, there are calls to rename the Colston Memorial Hall following its refurbishment in 2020. It’s not the first time activists have taken issue with the way in which the city of Bristol has failed to address its complicity in slavery. The Colston controversy is a useful entrée into the contested geopolitics of street naming. When, where, what and how we choose to name space is never politically innocent. Our naming choices and practices are tied to place identity and expressions of power.

Some countries are currently reflecting on their colonial histories, legacies of authoritarianism and fascism, and past associations with the former Soviet Union and Marxist-Leninism. In Poland, the Law and Justice Party government has taken to the task with some relish. As part of a concerted effort to remove the stain of communism from Polish society, communist-era street names are being rescinded and a process started in the early 1990s is being accelerated. Since 2017, the Institute of Remembrance has identified hundreds of street names that acknowledge the Soviet Red Army, communism, Rosa Luxembourg and others. Critics worry that the current government is hellbent on forcing through a version of Polish history and geography that white-washes the country’s past.

Human rights campaigners have called on the Trump administration to rename a section of the New Hampshire Avenue the 'Jamal Khashoggi Way'

Most recently, human rights campaigners have called upon the Trump administration to rename a section of the New Hampshire Avenue in Washington DC, the ‘Jamal Khashoggi Way’, following the Saudi journalist’s violent death in October 2018. The renaming gesture is designed to morally shame. While it is unlikely to be approved, given the US administration’s closeness with Saudi Arabia, the aim is clear – a permanent gesture designed to embarrass and remind those passing through a section of the Avenue where the Saudi embassy is located.

Choosing the right road or street to make such a geopolitical point is vital. New Hampshire Avenue is close to the heart of Washington DC and embassies are high-profile targets for activists and governments alike to register their displeasure. Embassies are located in capital cities, often in the most exclusive and expensive areas. A change in street name would also force embassies and their governments to acknowledge that change through their business cards, formal letters and other forms of correspondence. If change cannot be secured officially, however, there are always opportunities to do things more spontaneously. In Washington DC, congressional figures have expressed support for a plan to rename the street outside the Russian embassy the ‘Boris Nemtsov Way’ and an equivalent one outside the Chinese Embassy the ‘Liu Xiaobo Way’. Both are gestures designed to embarrass the respective governments for killing and/or imprisoning opposition leaders.

Such place naming gestures work both ways. If the street name of the Chinese embassy in Washington DC was renamed, it has been suggested that the Chinese might retaliate and come up with a ‘Snowden Street’ or ‘Osama bin Laden Street’. It could easily become a popular game as governments seek to come up with a name that would cause maximum embarrassment for geopolitical foes. In Turkey, the mayor of Ankara has done just that. Against a backdrop of worsening US-Turkish relations over the ongoing Syrian crisis, the street where the new embassy is due to be built has already been renamed the ‘Malcolm X Avenue’. Named after the controversial African-American civil rights activist, the decision reveals something about how foreign powers identify popular figures, geopolitical themes and periods of history that they believe will bring discomfort. To impose those names outside the buildings that are intended to regularise and formalise international relations is telling.

Another potential street name? Some congressional figures support renaming the street outside the Chinese embassy 'Liu Xiaobo Way' after the late Chinese activist jailed for his hand in writing a political manifesto

Foreign governments can sometimes get around awkward street re-naming. In 1981, the Iranian government renamed ‘Winston Churchill Street’, ‘Bobby Sands Street’. The change in name was designed to signify a profound shift in Iranian geopolitics. Britain’s close relations with the pre-revolutionary Iran were over. The UK embassy’s official address in Tehran was henceforth going to include a street deliberately named after an IRA prisoner who died in a UK prison. The British authorities attempted to circumvent the problem by closing its official entrance on Bobby Sands Street and opening a new one on Ferdowsi Avenue.

Street renaming nourishes populist geopolitics. The Turkish example is striking because Erdoğan met Malcolm X’s daughters when visiting New York in 2018. The meeting was, inevitably, shared with the wider world via the president’s official Twitter account. In Russia, there are reports of plans to rename the US embassy’s official postal address in Moscow: 1 North American Dead End.

How did Bolsonaro do it? Klaus Dodds charts the Brazilian leader’s rise to power

In October this year, Brazilians elected a new president, following a second round run-off involving two candidates: a former army captain from the ultra-conservative Social and Liberal Party and Fernando Haddad, a union activist representing the leftist Workers Party. In the end, the right wing candidate, Jair Bolsonaro, won by 55 per cent of the vote. The 39th president of Brazil will be one of the most controversial figures in the history of the country, largely owing to his inflammatory rhetoric against sexual and racial minorities, communism and women.

None of this has dented investor confidence. It was reported that Brazilian shares and stocks had hit a record high. Bolsonaro is the kind of man that the president of the United States would approve of. Dubbed the ‘Trump of the tropics’, presidential candidate Bolsonaro promised to impose the dictum declared by his nation’s flag ever since November 1889. In that year the presidential system of Brazil was adopted along with the new flag, which depicts the night sky over then capital Rio de Janeiro. Embossed across the sky and the white stars is the motto ‘Order and Progress’. For many Brazilians, there has not been sufficient evidence of these two principles in recent years. The new president promises to bring both. In his victory speech, broadcast via social media, he promised that Brazil’s destiny would be altered for the better.

Amazingly, he might never have been elected president had he not survived a knife attack in September, from which he first recovered and then prospered. He was helped by the fact that a bitter rival, and former Workers Party president, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, was prevented from running because of a conviction for corruption. In general, the Workers Party’s credibility was diminished by one of the largest corruption crises ever to hit Brazil. A federal police operation, code named Car Wash, revealed a huge bribery enterprise engulfing senior political and commercial figures, including three former presidents. Many voters in the 2018 presidential campaign were, almost certainly, affected by the ‘stench of scandal’.

From his hospital bed, a recovering Bolsonaro was able to press on with his attack against corrupt, establishment politicians. Declaring his loyalty to Brazil and his devotion to God, he promised, like a Brazilian Hercules, to clean the presidential stables. The vision on offer was, and is, one of social and political order and is profoundly conservative. His clarion call to voters revolves around nostalgia; a longing for a return to the days when Brazil was ruled by the generals of the 1960s and 1970s. He is supportive of state-sanctioned repression and torture and desires an anti-communist Brazil, intolerant towards minorities including gay people and non-Christians.

Despite condemnation from some quarters, related to his misogyny and racism, Bolsonaro’s popularity soared in September and October. A skillful campaign, involving extensive use of social media, is thought to have been pivotal in maintaining momentum, though the reliance on the internet is perhaps unsurprising given that he was in hospital for three weeks.

Controversy abounded, and both sides accused each other of using hateful social media messaging via applications such as WhatsApp. It is also alleged that Bolsonaro supporters from the business community violated election campaign laws when making donations. The 2018 presidential campaign was certainly divisive, though in Brazil, that isn’t unusual.

Bolsonaro is unashamedly populist and chauvinistic. His conservative vision of order and progress carries with it geopolitical implications. Although he has pledged to be respectful of the Brazilian constitution, the president-elect has a decisive mandate. A nostalgia for the national security doctrine of the Cold War years carries a troubling legacy. In particular, the question of indigenous rights is not likely to be a priority for a new president openly hostile to climate change and environmental conservation.

In the 1960s and 1970s, the Brazilian hinterland was viewed as a hotbed for communist revolutionaries. The inauguration of Brasília as the new national capital in 1960 was in direct response to these fears and reflected a desire to see Brazil’s heartland better developed and protected from communists. At this time, indigenous peoples were often thought of as obstacles to ‘order and progress’, largely due to their alliances with left-wing activists and environmental campaigners. Bolsonaro, who served in the Brazilian army in the late 1970s, has never been an advocate of indigenous land rights. This is not going to help a situation where in 2017 alone, more than 100 indigenous people were murdered.

Pro-business and pro-American, Bolsonaro has spoken repeatedly of the need to prioritise the national economy. Progress over Amazonian deforestation and commitment to the Paris Agreement must be in doubt. Agri-business and mining in the Amazon are likely to intensify and the production of sustainable biofuels might stall. Fifty-seven million Brazilian citizens voted for disruptive change. As the world’s sixth largest country, with a population of over 200 million, the execution of this change matters.

This was published in the December 2018 edition of Geographical magazine

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Klaus Dodds analyses the proposed land swap between Kosovo and Serbia and its implications for wider global relations

Land and population swaps are a feature of Europe’s geopolitical history. There have been examples aplenty of border reassignment, population expulsion, ethnic cleansing and genocide throughout the 20th century. Less well-known cases include the 1923 population exchange between Turkey and Greece. Signed in Switzerland, more than 1.5 million people were deported with the vast majority hailing from Greek-speaking communities living in Turkey. Greece had to accommodate 1.2 million people, which provides perspective as to what the country has had to cope with in more recent years. The move was designed to bring both countries closer towards the ideal of the nation-state: a homogeneous national community within defined borders.

Further north of the Greek peninsula, the former Yugoslavia (and before that the Ottoman Empire) has had no shortage of border change and population displacement. Terms such as ‘balkanisation’ were re-popularised in the 1990s as countries such as Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia split along linguistic, ethnic or other identity lines. The ground zero for ethnic nationalism in this period was Bosnia-Herzegovina, but Albanian-speaking enclaves such as Kosovo also proved enduring examples of how communities could be torn apart by chauvinism and violent nationalisms. For decades, the ‘Balkans’ has been a short-hand term in European discourse for such division and difference.

In the last decade and a half, former Yugoslavian countries such as Slovenia have joined the European Union, the latest being Croatia in 2013. Four other countries in southeast Europe are ‘transposing’ towards EU membership – Albania, Macedonia, Montenegro and Serbia, while Bosnia and Kosovo have also been identified as potential candidates. In order for candidature to progress there needs to be evidence that certain qualities, such as commitment to rule of law, are respected.

Unresolved territorial dispute is not a barrier to membership per se, as the Republic of Cyprus’ EU status demonstrates. Nevertheless, in recent weeks, Kosovo and Serbia have been consulting with one another about a possible deal over disputed territory as part of their collective plans to secure a place in the EU. Kosovo’s declaration of independence in 2008 was not recognised by Russia and Serbia, or by EU members such as Cyprus, Greece and Spain. Under the terms of the Brussels Agreement (2013), both countries committed themselves to so-called normalisation of relations. One possible option is to divide Kosovo so that the Serbian majority are integrated into Serbia and Kosovo gains the Albanian-majority Preševo Valley, where around 60,000 Albanian speakers are thought to live. But this would prove troubling not only within Kosovo and Serbia but also within the wider region. Albania, Macedonia and Bosnia have all had recent histories of ethnic/national tension and cleansing, and observers have expressed concerns that public talk of land swaps will unsettle.

Proposals for partition come in the wake of a bitter conflict between Kosovar and Serbian forces in the late 1990s and early 2000s. In the intervening period, there have been signs that powers such as the United States might be prepared to support partition if it proves conducive to normalisation. But others are understandably cautious, with Germany warning that such actions would destabilise neighbours. Around 20 per cent of Macedonia’s population is Albanian speaking and other Macedonian citizens might worry about new expressions of Albanian irredentism. EU membership for all the candidate nations in southeast Europe could contribute to a new geopolitical imagination where ethnic and national borders would matter less in everyday life. But that is a future prospect.

The Kosovo-Serbia land swap proposal, however tentative, is a powerful reminder of unfinished geopolitical business. The relationship between the two countries is not straightforward and partition is unpopular with both. Kosovo remains staffed with NATO troops (around 4,500 in number) and the Kosovo Force (KFOR) is tasked with deterring Serbian aggression, ensuring stabilisation and humanitarian support, and preventing people trafficking. The first KFOR commander was thenow retired British general, Sir Mike Jackson. KFOR is now under Italian military leadership and Italy is the largest contributor to this peace-keeping mission. The force were active in September helping to protect the Serbian president, Aleksandar Vucic, who visited Kosovo. The visit was challenging and newspapers reported on stories of Kosovar protesters making it impossible for the Serbian president to visit a Serbian-majority village in central Kosovo.

Population exchange and border alteration continue to be integral to European affairs. For all the heady optimism in the early years after the disintegration of the Berlin Wall and the reunification of Germany, other parts of Europe had a different experience – separation, violence and imposition. Meeting EU membership requirements might mean normalising things that we might not wish to see normalised.

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Klaus Dodds explores corporate espionage in the US and the danger of alienating legitimate Chinese and Chinese-American researchers

For some retired spies in the United States, a new career working in the corporate world awaits where their field intelligence skills can be put to work. Former CIA employees have discovered that they don’t have to stop being spies as domestic US companies are eager to acquire insights into what their potential competitors are engaged in. It is not uncommon to read that private detectives and ex-spies will purchase, clandestinely, the rubbish of other firms and trade support groups. Or speak discreetly to employees in the hope of learning commercially sensitive information. Indeed, many ex-spies run private ‘corporate intelligence’ firms.

All of which is important to bear in mind, the next time you hear a US president railing against foreign industrial espionage. Donald Trump is angry with China for corporate spying and technology transfer. Intellectual property rights are being undermined by a country that is regularly accused by the US of taking all the ‘benefits’ and not the ‘costs’ of globalisation. In April, Trump proposed a new measure designed to restrict Chinese research staff working in US research institutions because there was a danger that industrial spying would simply continue unabated. The proposal was designed to reassure the public that Chinese staff were not going to be able to acquire and/or steal information about projects with military and intelligence components. China has made it clear, under its Made in China 2025 initiative, that it wishes to be a world-leader in industrial technologies such as robotics and artificial intelligence. Trump is worried that the US might accidentally facilitate such a milestone.

China is a leader in industrial espionage but it would be mistaken to think it’s alone in this matter. Edward Snowden reminded us in 2014 that the US has plans to capture knowledge that would be useful to US industry. What is disturbing about some of the recent commentary by figures such as the FBI director Christopher Wray is an insinuation that Chinese and Chinese-American researchers might constitute a ‘whole-of-society threat’. Speaking to the Senate Intelligence Committee in February, Wray chose to paint the threat of Chinese industrial espionage in a way that might lead the US public to think that Chinese-Americans in particular can not be trusted.

The reality is a great deal more complicated, and it is important not to think of China as a monolithic actor. There are multiple Chinese stakeholders and, like any state engaged in any form of spying, it uses a variety of individuals and groups to achieve its aims. Made in China 2025 signals Chinese industrial ambition in the same way that ‘Make America Great Again’ signals the US’ desire to consolidate its industrial-military hegemony.

Complicating all of this is the fact that the US and China do work together, including many academics working in networks spanning the two countries and beyond. The boundary between legitimate knowledge exchange and intellectual property theft can be a blurry one. Practices such as science diplomacy are often funded and supported by states precisely because it is recognised that international academic collaboration can contribute to wider national economic and political objectives. Universities, companies and governments work closely with one another and the danger is that in animating fears about industrial espionage you end up pointing the finger at researchers who are engaged in sanctioned activities undertaken at the behest of academic and funding bodies.

There are precedents to be mindful of. The Clinton and Obama administrations both worried about Chinese intellectual property theft and improper technology transfers. One of the most notorious cases involved a Chinese-American scientist called Dr Wen Ho Lee who worked at the Los Alamos National Laboratory. In December 1999, Lee was accused of stealing sensitive material so that China could develop miniature nuclear weapons. Lee was convicted of improper use of restricted materials but the FBI did not secure any convictions for more serious federal crimes. Ultimately, Lee was awarded substantial compensation for his treatment, which included solitary confinement. Discredited testimony was shown to have played a disproportionate role in his charging, while others suspected his Chinese-Taiwanese ancestry was a factor in heightening suspicion. The controversy led other Chinese-born scientists to leave and return to China. A racial-ethnic McCarthyism took hold.

The moral of the story is an important one. For 18 months, US commentators and politicians were convinced that Lee was a clear and present danger to the US. This was not only unproven but also sparked an exodus of scientists and led other Asian-Americans to doubt whether it was sensible to continue working at Los Alamos and other ‘sensitive’ institutions. If you want to ‘Make America Great Again’, you need in part to ensure that US companies can access growing markets in Asia, including China. Alienating China and the Chinese diaspora might not, therefore, make a great deal of sense.

Klaus Dodds looks to El Salvador's past to explain how it can haunt the geopolitical present

It is easy to think that geopolitics is preoccupied with the immediate and even the future. The past, however, has a way of reminding us that geopolitics carries with it legacies and traces that continue to haunt the present.

A good example of the past acting as a spectre is an intriguing case involving the disappearance of an ambassador, a former rebel turned president and a supreme court judgement. The kidnapped official was a South African diplomat called Archibald Dunn, the politician is President Sánchez Cerén of El Salvador and it is the Central American country’s supreme court that has handed down a challenging decree.

In November 1979, Dunn, then the South African ambassador, was kidnapped outside the country’s embassy. It was a brazen act by the so-called Popular Forces of Liberation (PLF), which then became part of a coalition group called the National Liberation Front. The PLF was a left-wing group caught up in a civil war against the military government of El Salvador. The civil war was brutal and thousands died and disappeared over a period of 12 years. Hostilities formally ended in January 1992.

The Dunn kidnapping came early on in the civil war, and coincided with a severance of diplomatic relationships with the South African government. Dunn was a veteran of El Salvador, having been posted there in 1973. He had also survived a previous attempt to kidnap him. Dunn’s importance lay in the type of country he represented – the apartheid government of South Africa was detested by leftist groups around the world. To complicate matters, the military government of El Salvador broke off diplomatic relations with South Africa a few days before the ambassador’s disappearance.

While Dunn was kidnapped, the PLF demanded not only a ransom of $20million but also that its group’s manifesto be published in over 100 newspapers around the world. The negotiations continued for months, with hope expressed that the ambassador might be released alive. These hopes were dashed the following year when the PLF announced that they had killed the ambassador sometime in October 1980. Despite his diplomatic status, Pretoria never negotiated directly with the PLF.

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The PLF blamed the South African government and the Dunn family for not making more effort to reach all their financial demands. Apparently $2million was handed over to the rebels but it was nowhere the original figure demanded. Notably, while press attention was high for the Dunn case, the then military government and left-wing rebels were involved in a series of less publicised killings across the country.

As with other Central American countries at the time, El Salvador was involved in ‘dirty wars’, where innocent civilians were caught up in mayhem. Cold War regional geopolitics made things worse. US president Ronald Reagan’s administrations (1981 to 1989) supported right-wing military governments, while the Soviet Union and Cuba assisted left-wing resistance groups (usually framed as terror groups by the US). Around $4billion was given to the El Salvadorian military by the US in its efforts to prevent a ‘communist takeover’. Oliver Stone’s film Salvador (1986) dramatised some of the endemic violence through the privileged perspective of a US photographer trying to flee the country.

While Salvador was dramatic fiction, this violent past is still very much part of everyday life in El Salvador. The court has just ruled that the former rebel leader and now president must testify in open court about the disappearance and murder of the South African ambassador. The Dunn family brought the lawsuit. President Cerén is going to be reminded, whether he cares for it or not, that he once used to go by the nom de guerre of ‘Commander Leonel González’. Elected in a divisive contest in March 2014, Cerén’s presidential staff has downplayed his role in the PLF and asserted that he was a trade unionist at the time.

The Dunn family understandably are eager to know where he died and whether his body was buried close by. Presidential compliance is not likely to be forthcoming. The president might just continue to deny he was a high-ranking members of the PLF. His supporters claim that the legal action is really part of a plot to discredit the image of the president. If he refuses to cooperate then the country’s political representatives will have to decide what legal consequences might follow.

The sad reality is that Dunn is part of a long list of some 8,000 missing persons presumed murdered by either rebels or military death squads who were never returned to their respective families. But unlike many El Salvadorians, Dunn’s family petition is a reminder that the legal process might yet deliver some closure, even some small measure of justice for at least one family affected by the long and horrible civil war.

Who is the world supercomputer champion? Klaus Dodds looks at the contenders

In June 2016, news broke that China had developed the world’s fastest supercomputer. Called the Tianhe-1A, it was described as capable of performing over 2.5 thousand trillion operations a second. Supercomputers are not only equipped with plenty of processing power but they are also physically large. This monster weighed in at 150 tonnes and enjoyed a storage capacity equivalent to 100 million books.

As befits supercomputers, numbers loom large. Newspaper reports and technical magazine analysis tend to concentrate on calculations per second, speed and size. But there is another aspect that deserves equal billing. When American and European news stories focus on Chinese scientific and technical achievements, they tend to frame it in geopolitically alarmist terms. It is not uncommon to read a story about a technological achievement with an accompanying image of a Chinese soldier or a map of a contested area such as the South China Sea. Alternatively, the story is contextualised with reference to grand geopolitical scheming such as the One Belt, One Road initiative.

If we were looking for a parallel, one might point to the geopolitical framing of Japan in the 1980s and 1990s. American media organisations often reported on examples of Japanese technical superiority and their deleterious consequences for American hegemonic power. In the early 1990s, stories abounded about Japanese capabilities in fighter jet development and production. In a curious way, the 1988 Hollywood blockbuster Die Hard captured the mood of geopolitical ambivalence. An LA cop fighting a group of East German terrorists occupying a large corporate building owned by a multinational Japanese company.

Fast forward two decades, the geopolitical mood music is much changed. Now the talk of the town is Chinese geopolitical and technological power. Interestingly, Chinese investment is making its presence in Hollywood and films such as The Martian suggest, implausibly, as critics noted, that the two countries could contribute in space exploration. Supercomputers are being put to use in the movie industry, and the low-budget 2016 film Morgan attracted interest when it was announced that the trailer was produced by the IBM supercomputer Watson.

2016 was a watershed year as China claimed top spot in the league for supercomputers. Of the top 500, China enjoyed 202 supercomputers compared to 143 for the US. China’s ascent in the supercomputer stakes could in part be down to the fact that the US has decided to concentrate its efforts on quantum computing. If successfully developed, this innovative strand promises to revolutionise the manner in which data is stored. But there is a great deal of basic, yet expensive, research that remains to be undertaken, so US investment in this area is a longer-term prospect with corresponding national security fears about China not enjoying access to this research.

As a dual-use technology, supercomputers can play a role in civilian and military applications. As such, in 2015 the Obama administration blocked an Intel sale of semi-conductors to China because of worries it might use them to further nuclear weapon development.

In June this year, newspapers such as the New York Times reported that the US had reclaimed bragging rights to the world’s most powerful supercomputer. It resides in the Oak Ridge National Laboratory in Tennessee. Built by IBM, Summit, occupies an area around 500 square metres in size and consumes a mind-blowing 15,000 litres of water per minute. Water plays a key role in the cooling of supercomputers and plenty of heat is generated as around 200 quadrillion calculations per second are performed. Summit is a million times quicker than a laptop and about twice as fast as the leading Chinese model.

Unsurprisingly, US newspapers were swift to declare this a technological triumph. So much of American geopolitical power pivots around military and civil dominance in matters scientific and technical. Supercomputing contributes to avant-garde machine and deep learning. It enables companies such as Facebook and Google to develop further innovations in their customer-focusing services and government-led research and development, including in areas of clean energy, nuclear science, natural disaster management and health provision. And with technological dominance comes market penetration and networks of dependency. Put bluntly, America can decide who, where and what it sells. China has, paradoxically, been incentivised to develop its own supply chain because of US computer processing trade blocks.

The top 500 list of supercomputers reaffirms the dominance of China, one not likely to be toppled any time soon despite the US’ best efforts. By 2020, it is quite likely that China will have unveiled a new supercomputer, the Tianhe-3, while in 2021 it is thought that the US will have developed a new model called Cray/Intel Aurora A21. While it may not be an arms race, there is no doubt that supercomputers will continue transforming our lives, both practically and geopolitically.

In May this year, news headlines warned of a dangerous escalation in tension between Iran and Israel. Sources including the UK-based Syrian Observatory for Human Rights noted that Iranian forces, lying inside Syria, fired rockets towards Israeli troop positions in the Golan Heights. In response, the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) launched a counter-attack against those suspected Iranian positions. The United States warned Iran of being ‘provocative’ while Russia called for both parties to commit to de-escalation.

There has been plenty of analysis of Israeli-Iranian tension in the immediate aftermath of the Trump administration’s rejection of the multi-national-sponsored Iranian nuclear agreement. However, less attention has been given to the physical and strategic geography of the Golan Heights. Often simply called Golan, the reference to ‘heights’ is a useful reminder that being elevated is highly significant in the contested and complex geographies of the region. When we refer to terrain more generally, we draw attention not only to the origins of physical features such as hills and valleys, but also their strategic significance in terms of mobility, visibility and durability.

Terrain, including heights or elevated land, is axiomatic to military geography and geopolitics. Israel seized the Golan after the 1967 Six Day War, after the IDF defeated the armies of Syria, Egypt and Jordan. The territories were never returned to Syria after the conflict ended. While Syria called on Israel to withdraw, there has been little prospect that this would indeed be accepted.

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The Golan matters to Israel in four distinct ways. The first is simply about height itself and what it can facilitate. At its highest point of Mount Hermon (9,232ft), the occupied zone overlooks the Jordan Valley. Much of the Golan is plateau with an average elevation of 1,000ft and before 1967 Syrian forces were able to monitor Israeli activity in the lowlands from here. Syrian forces could also fire on Israeli settlements and positions and enjoy a commanding strategic advantage.

The second aspect involves water. The highland plateau may only be about 450 square miles in area but it is a major source of water for the River Jordan. Some 30 per cent of Israel’s freshwater supplies originate from the Golan Heights. The river water is essential to enabling Israeli agriculture and settler communities in Golan. Winter rainfall and snowfall replenish the River Jordan, which then snakes its way towards the Sea of Galilee.

If elevation and water security matter, so too does the third factor, demographics. Some 20,000 Israeli settlers were encouraged to migrate to the occupied Golan post-1967. More than 150,000 Syrians fled back to unoccupied Syria leaving around 20,000 Syrian Druze residents who refuse to accept Israeli citizenship. The Druze are Syrian citizens but administratively classified as residents of Israel. Israel formally annexed the Golan in 1981 and the occupation has not been recognised by any other state party. The so-called Purple Line (the ceasefire line following the 1967 conflict) acts as a de facto border between Israel and Syria.The final factor worth noting is about soil fertility. Farming, vineyards and orchards flourish in the Golan. The climate and topography is quite distinct from the semi-arid environment of Israel. There is even a Mount Hermon ski resort.

In 1974, after the previous year’s Yom Kippur war pitting Israel against Egypt and Syria, the political geography of the Golan Heights altered as a demilitarised zone (DMZ) was established. A UN-sponsored intervention led to this initiative, which called for an area of separation and two equal forces established either side. A UN observer force (UNDOF) is responsible for ensuring that the sector remains peaceful. The DMZ is 80km long and anywhere from one to ten kilometres wide. The hilly terrain means that the UN observer positions tend to be dotted around high points in order to ensure the zone remains free of military forces. There are 44 permanently manned positions and 11 observation posts. The Syrian capital Damascus is only about 60km away.

In November 2012, three Syrian tanks violated the terms attached to the DMZ. Their unauthorised entry was widely reported and led to fears that the integrity of the UNDOF mission would be undermined. It was the first such violation since 1974 and Israel accused Syrian forces of being responsible for mortar fire. Any Syrian military activity will inflame Israeli strategic sensitivities, as the country was assaulted by Syrian artillery between 1948 and 1967.

Negotiations over the Golan have occurred periodically. It’s hard to countenance now, but in 2003 President Bashar al-Assad spoke of his desire to resurrect peace talks. At stake was the recovery of the Golan Heights. Israel has been prepared to discuss territorial return but only if it did not return entirely to the pre-1967 border. In other words, some territory would be ceded but not all. Israel is not prepared to give up control of the eastern shore of the Sea of Galilee.

In current circumstances, there is little prospect of any peace and/or territory deal. The IDF recognises only too well that when it comes to the Golan, height really matters.

From ball control to boycotts, the story of Israel’s lack of presence at the World Cup is rooted in geopolitics

For those watching the 2018 World Cup, each and every game can be a nail-biting affair. Every fan wants to see their national team do well and prime ministers and presidents without fail seek to capitalise on the back of a winning display. President Putin, in his opening of the tournament, reminded his global audience that Russia ‘loved’ football and was proud to host the event in an ‘open, hospitable and friendly country’. While Russia is not expected to win the entire event, few will deny that the hosting of the World Cup is another feather in the cap for a political leader of a country condemned for breaches of international law.

Spare a thought, however, for those fans who rarely get to see their national team compete in any World Cup. The list is a long one and includes large numbers of countries from the global south, along with smaller European nations such as Finland and Luxembourg. Another country affected by non-participation is Israel. Since 1970, the Israeli national football team has failed to qualify for any World Cup tournament. That year, in the event hosted by Mexico, Israel lost to Uruguay and drew with Italy and Sweden. It was a tough group and the team finished bottom of their table.

Israel playing Hungary in 2012 (image: Laszlo Szirtesi)

Fast-forward to 2018, Iran and Saudi Arabia are qualifiers but once again Israel failed to make the cut. The country’s potential path to the World Cup lay via UEFA’s Group G competition. Their six-strong group included two tournament-winning nations, Spain and Italy. By way of contrast, Saudi Arabia and Iran qualified through their participation in Asian Football Confederation (AFC). Both teams performed well and beat countries such as Thailand, United Arab Emirates, Qatar and Uzbekistan. Neither Iran or Saudi Arabia had to face, prior to the World Cup tournament, a former World Cup winner.

Israel was not always party to UEFA. For many years, it was a member of the AFC. Between 1954 and 1974, however, the country faced difficulties in qualifying because of boycotts and hostility from Middle Eastern neighbours and Muslim-majority states. The most absurd situation came in the lead-up to the 1958 World Cup tournament when Indonesia, Sudan and Turkey all refused to play the Israeli team. FIFA organised a special play-off game involving Wales, which Israel lost thus failing to progress any further. By 1974, Kuwait pushed a motion calling for Israel’s expulsion from the AFC, and as a result the latter was transplanted into European and Oceania qualification tournaments for much of the 1970s and 1980s.

Yossi Benayoun in a World Cup qualifier against the Republic of Ireland in 2005 (Image: Eoghan McNally)

After 20 years of displacement, Israel was admitted into UEFA in 1994. While it means that Israeli teams have often had to face formidable European opponents, it has ensured that the withdrawals and boycotts of the past have disappeared. Israel may not have qualified but it has at least been able to play all their opponents. For a country that faces international pressure in other areas of its foreign and security policies, Israeli participation in football is recognised as a helpful counter-balance. Israeli public relations and media make reference to top-performing Israeli players and their success in European domestic football competitions. For example, former Israeli team captain Yossi Benayoun played for Chelsea in 2012-3, after spells with other English clubs including West Ham and Liverpool.

Israel’s participation in UEFA qualifiers may be tough in footballing terms but there remain countries that will not compete against Israeli sports people, including Saudi Arabia, Indonesia, and Kuwait. In early June 2018, Argentina cancelled a friendly game with Israel scheduled to be played in Jerusalem. One reason cited at the time was an unspecified threat directed against the Argentine captain, Lionel Messi. Others pointed to growing public and online pressure directed towards the team given Israeli violence against Palestinian protestors. The decision to shift the game away from Haifa to the contested city of Jerusalem was identified as a further act of provocation. Whatever the deciding factor, the decision not to play against Israel was widely celebrated by Palestinians and their network of supporters.

Despite protestations to the contrary, football embodies geopolitics and geopolitics is performed through football. The Israeli story is far more convoluted, involving embargo, exile and relocation. While Israel has enjoyed some footballing success, its involvement in UEFA qualifiers alongside other cultural events such as the Eurovision Song Contest (since 1973 and winning four times), contributes to its public image as a nation-state that has more in common with European liberal democracies that neighbouring autocratic Middle Eastern regimes. So while disappointing to Israeli football fans, the country’s ongoing participation in UEFA qualifiers is something for them to savour in the midst of calls to boycott, disinvest and sanction.

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Klaus Dodds asks whether recent dialogue on the Korean peninsular is a significant development, or just more of the same

Can Donald Trump’s idiosyncratic presidential style deliver an outcome that has eluded a generation of presidents from Eisenhower to Obama? The outcome in question refers to the Korean Peninsula and the formal ending of hostilities between North and South Korea and their respective allies. While the prospect of a peace treaty involving the two Koreas might seem enticing, there are formidable obstacles to be negotiated.

In a tweet in mid-April, Trump announced that CIA director and Secretary of State nominee, Mike Pompeo, visited North Korea and met with Kim Jong Un. Trump claimed there was a ‘good relationship’ between the two sides and that the denuclearisation of North Korea was possible. But a character-limited tweet was never going to convey, with any clarity or detail, how the two were going to be tethered to one another.

Mike Pompeo met with Kim Jong Un in North Korea last week. Meeting went very smoothly and a good relationship was formed. Details of Summit are being worked out now. Denuclearization will be a great thing for World, but also for North Korea!

An unprecedented US-North Korean summit was only mooted in March, and a face-to-face meeting involving Trump and Kim was scheduled for 12 June. Trump originally revealed that five locations for the meeting were under consideration. Where diplomacy occurs is important – always. The United States and North and South Korea were never options. Journalists speculated that the list might include some combination of the following: the DMZ, Beijing, Stockholm, Geneva and/or somewhere in international waters. In the end, the city-state of Singapore was chosen for the summit, later cancelled last week (UPDATE: Now back on).

The secret Pompeo visit is significant, undoubtedly. The US has no formal diplomatic relationship with North Korea. The last time a senior member of any administration visited was in the final months of the Clinton administration. By the early 2000s, after initial optimism that relations between the North and South might be improving under the ‘sunshine policy’, things changed radically for the worse. In January 2002, President George W Bush declared that an ‘axis of evil’ including Iran, Iraq and North Korea imperilled the security of the world. All three were characterised as malevolent and mendacious. Iraq was invaded, Iran and North Korea were isolated and sanctioned in the ensuing War on Terror.

North Korea’s isolation from the US has never been absolute. Former NBA basketball player Dennis Rodman’s multiple trips to North Korea remind us that total isolation rarely exists. Rodman was credited with helping to secure the release of US missionary Kenneth Bae in 2014. Kim and Rodman connected over a mutual love of basketball. There has also been a degree of back-channel contact between the two countries, which no one is that eager to publicise.

Any diplomatic initiative involving North Korea is challenging because it attracts opprobrium for its human rights violations and nuclear weapons development. China is its only formal ally, but Russia has an economic relationship with the country as well. Russia supported a repeat of sanctions against North Korea in 2017 but the impact of sanctions affects its trading relationship and regional economy. Thousands of North Korean migrant workers are to be found in the Russian Far East.

Trump’s desire to rewrite diplomatic history and secure a ‘deal’ with North Korea is generating both excitement and anxiety. Japan’s leader, Shinzo Abe, is concerned that any reconciliation plan might downgrade the US-Japan relationship that Prime Minister Abe is working hard to cultivate. The 2018 Winter Olympics hosted by South Korea gave opportunities for the North to reach out to other regional players including China and South Korea.

The new US national security adviser, John Bolton, shares Japanese suspicion of North Korea’s good faith when it comes to any kind of rapprochement. Abe wants Trump to address the fate of captured Japanese and American prisoners held in North Korea.

Twitter talk of a possible summit was carefully timed. In late April, the respective presidents of North and South Korea met in a highly publicised summit. The ending of formal hostilities following this high-level meeting might only embolden Trump. On the other hand, Trump has always made it clear he might walk away from any summit, but a ‘deal’ involving the lifting of sanctions in return for a peace treaty which acknowledged the existence of North Korea and additional economic support might prove very tempting to him. It would prove that his diplomatic style was more effective when dealing with difficult actors such as China, Russia and North Korea.

South Korea and Japan have had to live in the shadow of North Korean missile and nuclear testing. China and Russia don’t want economic and political collapse on their proverbial doorstep. Further afield, Iran would be worried by any dramatic change, especially if it then freed Trump to concentrate his energies on Tehran. There is a great deal at stake here both for East Asia and elsewhere.

Klaus Dodds explores the importance of reclaiming access to the sea to Bolivian culture

Where a country begins and ends can be heavily disputed. These territorial disputes and border conflicts are endemic to many national geopolitical cultures. The vast majority of Argentine citizens believe with great conviction that Las Malvinas son Argentinas (‘the Malvinas Islands are Argentine’) and successive administrations have worked hard to persuade and even invade in order to secure that territorial objective.

Bolivia’s genesis was also territorially troubling. Looking at an atlas would suggest that it is a land-locked country surrounded by five neighbours – Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Paraguay, and Peru. Historically, the country owes its origin to the break-up of the Spanish Empire in the 19th century, with independence declared in August 1825 and being internationally recognised by other parties in July 1847. However, in the mid-19th century, Bolivia stretched through current-day northern Chile to the edge of the Pacific Ocean. A series of border disputes from the 1860s to the 1930s saw things take a turn for the worse as a Peru-Bolivia confederation crumbled. Political instability, military weakness and economic fragility left the country vulnerable to opportunism by others. Bolivia shrank as territory was ceded to Peru, Chile, Brazil and Paraguay.

In Bolivia, the desire to reclaim ‘Bolivian access to the sea remains highly visible in the national geopolitical culture.

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The most devastating loss came with the so-called War of the Pacific (1879 to 1884) involving its southern neighbour Chile. The trigger to the conflict was a decision by the Bolivian authorities to impose additional taxes on Chilean mining companies in February 1878. Operating north of what is now the Chilean city of Antofagasta, the region was widely recognised as being nitrate-rich. Under the terms of the 1874 Boundary Treaty, Bolivia agreed not to impose additional taxes on Chilean mining interests for at least 25 years. Arguing that Bolivia was violating the treaty, Chilean armed forces occupied Antofagasta. By April 1879, war erupted and Chile’s well-equipped army and navy defeated its adversaries at sea, in the disputed coastal zone and in the mountainous Andes. The latest military technology was deployed including landmines, rifles, torpedoes, and armour-piercing artillery supplied by a global cast of characters including Britain and the US.

Two peace treaties were signed in 1883 and 1884. Bolivia agreed to a truce and accepted Chilean military occupation of its Pacific Ocean territories. Twenty years later, the country ceded Antofagasta to Chile and in doing so became land-locked. As a gesture of goodwill, Chile undertook to build a railway link between the northern port city of Arica (previously a Peruvian city) and La Paz. Chile also promised to respect freedom of transit for Bolivian commerce and industry via Chilean ports.

The 1904 Treaty of Peace and Friendship has been a sore spot for Bolivian nationalists ever since. The treaty delimits the common boundary between the two countries. Stretching over 850km, the former Bolivian territory remains a source of Chilean copper and nitrate extraction. Unsurprisingly, there is no appetite on the part of Chile to revisit a transfer of territory. In Bolivia, the desire to reclaim salida al mar de Bolivia (‘Bolivian access to the sea’) remains highly visible in the national geopolitical culture. Postage stamps, atlases, school textbooks, and a national day (the Day of the Sea) all play their part in reminding citizens of a ‘lost coastline’ and the ‘unjust’ treaty of 1904. Every 23 March, the president addresses the nation on the topic, while ceremonies and parades involving the Bolivian army and naval forces parade take place in La Paz and other major cities.

Chilean city of Antofagasta has been central to the fractured Chile-Bolivia relationship (Image: Jose Luis Stephens)

This March, a huge Bolivian flag was unveiled stretching more than 150 miles. Tagged as ‘the world’s biggest flag’, it is the latest and arguably most creative geopolitical intervention in this century-long dispute. It follows Bolivian determination to keep up pressure on Chile via the International Court of Justice (ICJ). After a period of diplomatic dialogue with Chile, the last decade has been anything but ‘pacific’. Ever since the re-election of President Evo Morales in 2009, it is possible to detect a worsening relationship which did not alter with his third presidential victory in 2014.

Bolivia wants the treaty’s provisions revised and updated to allow for the return of lost territory. It argues that Chile made an offer in 1975 to revisit the treaty and grant Bolivia a small land corridor to the Pacific Ocean. But Chile rejects any such amendment to the 1904 Treaty and is unlikely to make any concessions in the foreseeable future – ICJ intervention notwithstanding.

Territorial grievances tend to be resurrected at moments of domestic upheaval, and Morales’ administration has been hit by falling revenue from oil and gas, and by public unrest in the wake of rising unemployment and declining fuel subsidies. No amount of impressive flag-work will be able to disguise a geopolitical impasse.

What's in a name? Klaus Dodds looks at the dispute over the name ‘Macedonia’

Place naming matters. Never more so than when the place in question is contested. All over the world we have examples of disputes, such as in the case of Judea and Samaria as opposed to the West Bank, or the Falkland Islands and its Argentine/Latin American alternative, Islas Malvinas. Place names perform multiple roles – they help to identify and locate particular points on the Earth; they convey a sense of ownership and sovereignty; they connect to personal and collective identities, and they offer up clues to past histories and geographies.

One of the liveliest current examples of place naming controversy involves Greece and the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (FYROM). At the root of the dispute is the name ‘Macedonia’, and Greek concerns that the political leadership of the FYROM needs to change its national constitution and publicly reject any lingering claims to ‘recovering’ lost territory. For the new country, formed after the dissolution of Yugoslavia in 1991, only covers two fifths of the territory known as Macedonia - the rest is in Bulgaria or Greece. For Greek nationalists, Macedonia is integral to Greek culture, landscape and identity and has been so for millennia.

After the dissolution of Yugoslavia, the FYROM declared independence in 1991 and was only admitted as a UN member after accepting that it was to be officially known as FYROM and not the Republic of Macedonia (ROM). NATO and the EU recognise Macedonia as FYROM and not ROM because of Greek objections. For more than 25 years, the two countries have argued over who has the right to the name ‘Macedonia’. In recent weeks, a protest rally attracting at least 140,000 people marched through Athens chanting ‘Macedonia is Greece’.

The naming dispute is partly existential because it does tap into respective nationalist cultures. But it is not just a matter of identity politics. In 2003, FYROM was identified by the EU as a potential candidate state. A year later the FYROM applied for EU membership and its candidature was accepted in principle. However, full membership will not be finalised until an agreement can be reached with Greece over the place naming dispute. Accession negotiations with the EU which started in 2009 are in effect stalled. Now, however, Greece is under pressure to resolve matters so that FYROM can join both the EU and NATO.

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Elsewhere, the US, China and Russia recognise the Republic of Macedonia, and what worries the EU and NATO is that this lingering controversy provides Russia with yet another opportunity to make its strategic presence felt in the region. In 2017, controversy erupted over a disputed election result in FYROM/ROM, resulting in street protests and complaints from some voters that the EU, NATO and Russia were all meddling in their internal affairs. Complicating matters still further is the fact that 25 per cent of the population is Albanian, leading some FYROM nationalists to worry that there might be a nefarious Albanian plot to undermine the country and pursue a ‘greater Albania’.

If Greece is concerned about FYROM (and let us not forget Turkey and the divided island of Cyprus) then FYROM is concerned about Greece and Albania. In addition, Greece and Turkey are arguing over the ownership of small islands in the Aegean Sea and there have been several incidents involving their respective navies. The recent refugee crisis exacerbated existing tensions with both countries at loggerheads about maritime sovereignty and patrolling.

So the geopolitical stakes are high. NATO and the EU want to resolve this quickly. For Greece, the naming dispute is tied up to a wider set of concerns stretching from desired changes to the new state’s constitution (which acknowledges explicitly the territorial integrity and national sovereignty of Greece) to the manner in which Macedonians are taught national history and geography. Greece’s government (led by Alexis Tsipras and the Syriza Party) will probably need the support of an opposition party such as the New Democrats to have any chance of progressing things politically. The current coalition partner of Syriza is the Independent Greek party, which is in no mood to compromise on the Macedonian issue.

Are there signs that progress is possible? It was reported in January that the Macedonian government agreed to change the name of its national airport from Alexander the Great to Skopje International Airport. Optimism exists in some quarters that Macedonia could even become a NATO member (which is easier to resolve than EU membership) this summer. German Chancellor Angela Merkel has been vocal in her support and urged both sides to find a resolution. Meanwhile, FYROM remains under pressure to improve the rule of law and civil rights.

Finding a solution to this place naming imbroglio will demand goodwill. The Republic of Northern Macedonia or Republic of New Macedonia might be two future naming possibilities. While pontification continues, many countries will simply continue to speak of a Republic of Macedonia regardless.

Klaus Dodds casts an eye across the pond to review how a year of President Trump has changed the United States of America

‘America First’ is the keystone to the Trump vision of geopolitics. Capitalising upon blue-collar American voter anger and disenchantment, as well as appealing to a segment of upper-middle class Americans, the Trump administration made good on its earlier campaign articulations. Most recently, Trump described places such as Haiti as being indicative of ‘shit-hole countries’ that were the source of unwelcome migrants.

Words matter, but so do actions. In January 2017, Trump signed an Executive Order calling for a travel ban on individuals from seven overwhelmingly Muslim countries such as Iran, Libya and Syria. In the Clinton era of the 1990s they would have been described as ‘failed states’, and under the George W Bush administration at least two (Iran and Iraq) were members of the ‘axis of evil’. What followed were protests at airports and major cities, coupled with a succession of legal challenges at state and federal level. A year later, the Supreme Court ruled that a revised travel ban (version 3) could enter into effect. The latest ban now includes individuals from North Korea and Venezuela, but the focus remains overwhelmingly on majority-Muslim countries.

Disturbingly, media reports suggest that official reporting by the Departments of Homeland Security and Justice might be skewed in favour of a particular ideological position. Fundamentally, the rationale for the travel ban is straightforward. A person’s origin or citizenship is a good predictor of the danger they pose in terms of terrorist offence. If you institute a ban, say, on Syrian and Iraqi citizens travelling to the US (perhaps as recognised refugees), then the US is safer. America’s immigration system is therefore seen to be to blame for undermining homeland security.

A woman protesting the 'Muslim Ban' in New York in February 2017 (Image: a katz)

Prosecution data plays a critical role in justifying the travel bans. The Department of Justice (DOJ) issued a 2017 report noting that 402 out of 549 defendants facing prosecution for terrorism were born outside the US. The figures refer to all prosecutions between 2001 and 2016. What campaigners and journalists noted, however, was that the total figure being cited (549) differed from other official lists which contained 627 names. The simplest explanation for the shrinking DOJ list is that official statistics are being ‘edited’ in order to over-emphasise the threat posed by foreign born individuals prosecuted for terrorist offences. Manipulating official statistics is not unique to any one administration. Trump’s domestic and foreign policy agenda is blatant – travel bans, security investment, suspicion of UN, scepticism over Iran and a nuclear deal, and withdrawal from the Paris Climate Change agreement. If anything the Trump agenda is really a continuation of much of the post-9/11 agenda of the Bush administration. For all his much noted intellectual brio and public oratory, the Obama administration adopted much of the Homeland and War on Terror agenda of its predecessor. Presidential style may vary but as recent films such as The Post suggest, there are parallels to be drawn with the disgraced Richard Nixon administration.

How does the American public engage with the popular geopolitics of Trump? At the moment it is commonplace to read stories about Russian manipulation of the 2016 presidential election, bespoke news feeds that populate and personalise social media accounts, and communities that are divided between ‘territorialists’ and ‘globalists’. While both groups may embrace the need for national borders and homeland security, their attitudes towards the wider world differ in terms of cultural identity and commitment to the United States being engaged with the wider international political order.

Recent survey research led by the University of California suggests that Trump’s travel bans might have actually provoked public opinion shifts – but not in ways that the president might have hoped for. In effect, the study suggests that many Americans thought the bans to be ‘un-American’ and at odds with the egalitarian principles of freedom and liberty. The study focused on whether attitudes change when something high profile such as a ban is implemented. Photos of anti-ban demonstrations at public places such as airports often featured multi-racial Americans standing behind barriers with large American flags much in evidence. Placards calling for the deportation of Trump co-existed with other signs denouncing the ban as emblematic of Nazism. Social media was filled with hashtags such as #NotInMyName. It appeared that some Americans (including Trump voters) were more likely to change their attitudes if they thought the ban was antithetical to core American ideals and values.

If some citizens could not empathise with racialised minorities affected by the travel ban then an appeal to ideals and values possessed catalytic potential instead. The study also reminds us that if you want to affect change, there is plenty of scope and potential in protesting and campaigning in public and highly visible spaces such as airports. ‘Popular’ geopolitics can quickly become ‘unpopular’ geopolitics.

A language debate is forcing New Zealanders to consider how the modern country needs to engage with the past. Klaus Dodds explores

In New Zealand (or to use the Māori language place name, Aotearoa) there has been an interesting debate about the use of ‘te reo’ on Radio New Zealand (RNZ). Te reo means ‘the language’ and refers to that spoken by the indigenous peoples of New Zealand, the Māori. Since 1987, te reo Māori has been one of New Zealand’s three official tongues, which include English and, since 2006, New Zealand Sign Language.

In December last year, former National Party leader, Don Brash, complained that RNZ was forcing English-speaking presenters to use Māori. His intervention followed earlier media reporting about the manner in which Māori was used in public life. For the critics, Māori language promotion sits uneasily with a country where only a small minority can claim competence in its written and spoken forms. It is estimated that Māori may be spoken by around three per cent of New Zealanders compared to English which is near universal amongst the domestic population. Many other Asian and South Pacific origin languages are spoken in everyday life, but none thus far have official language status.

The ‘debate’ about the use of Māori in public life is playing out in public institutions such as RNZ. In February 2017, the broadcaster announced a so-called ‘Māori strategy’ and spoke about its willingness to develop ‘personalised language plans’ for its journalists and producers. What this entailed was a commitment to allow its employees to use te reo in broadcasting. Brash complained that he could not understand the broadcaster’s use of Māori and resented the fact presenters did not translate those extracts into English for non-Māori speakers. He was also quick to point out there were already Māori television and radio stations for native speakers to access if they so wished.

It is important to note that Brash’s intervention regarding the use of te reo needs to be placed in a wider political and cultural context. Brash is a former Leader of the Opposition and an experienced public figure in New Zealand. He’s also, importantly, the leading light of a pressure group called Hobson’s Pledge. Established in 2016 and named after the first Governor-General of New Zealand (William Hobson), the group is eager to bring to an end any advantages that Māori might enjoy in New Zealand society. It has been very critical of the guaranteed existence of seven Māori seats in the New Zealand parliament. Instead it proposes that all citizens, regardless of their origin, should be treated as equal. Failure to do so will, the advocates argue, lead to a more fractious and divided New Zealand.

Unsurprisingly, there are both Māori and Pakeha (New Zealanders of European descent) who take a different view about how New Zealand should conduct itself. The origins of modern-day New Zealand lie with the Treaty of Waitangi. In February 1840, the treaty was signed between the British Crown and more than 500 Māori chiefs. It established a series of obligations on the part of the Crown in return for ceding, at least in the English version, sovereignty over territory. The Māori version of the treaty, however, presented a different vision of what had been agreed upon. Instead of a sovereignty transfer, Māori agreed to share governance but also expected to retain possession of their lands and resources. The original meaning of the Treaty has been a source of controversy ever since.

The use of the Māori language on RNZ is, for many New Zealanders, a touchstone issue. Should 21st century New Zealand be actively investing and supporting both English and Māori language education in its schools? Should New Zealanders actively embrace singing the national anthem in Māori and learn to pronounce Māori place names such as Taupo (as Toe-Paw rather than Tau-Po)?

As with other countries, such as South Africa, language issues always matter to personal and collective identity. They touch upon geopolitics because they contribute to everyday maps of meaning. For example, embracing te reo Māori means not only being attentive to the indigenous inhabitants, but also means thinking about the country as located within the South Pacific – as opposed to being an English-speaking output of a former empire.

Though there is a great deal more Māori that is spoken and heard in New Zealand public life today, we should not exaggerate the change. In Wales, it is commonplace to see bilingual road signs and documentation in both English and Welsh. This is not the case in New Zealand. Māori lessons in schools are not compulsory, but this might change in the near future, subject to political will and capacity building in Māori language training and teacher education.

New Zealanders and visitors alike should prepare to learn some new place names for New Zealand, and North and South Island – respectively, Aotearoa, Te Ika-a-Maui and Te Waipounamu. Listeners unhappy with hearing te reo Māori on RNZ can of course turn off their radio, but it is most unlikely that they will be able to silence those who are determined to ensure that one of the country’s official languages is spoken and heard in the public sphere.

Klaus Dodds considers a national border which has become a central site for underhand activity: between Estonia and Russia

Cross-border smuggling is a challenge for many states. Whether its people smuggling or contraband such as drugs and weapons, border security infrastructure is integral to how national governments seek to disrupt, detain and deny illicit flows across international boundaries. One intriguing case of cross-border movement concerns the Estonian Border Guard (EBG), which has responsibility for border security, the major area of focus being the shared border with Russia. Established in 1991, after independence, the EBG is managed by the Ministry of the Interior. Over the last decade, donations from other EU countries has enabled it to acquire helicopters and planes to supplement land and water-based patrolling.

Recently, cigarette smugglers have been crossing at various points on the Estonian-Russian border. Russian cigarettes are carried into Estonia and then sold for profit on the black market. What makes this business geopolitically intriguing is what Russia is doing with this illicit trade. Smugglers, especially the ones that don’t get caught, provide ideal opportunities to harvest intelligence on the readiness of the EBG and the state of border security infrastructure.

Estonia lies in what Russia considers its ‘near abroad’ and there is a substantial Russian-speaking minority living in the country. Estonian officials are well aware that Russia is perfectly capable, through its intelligence service (the FSB), of interfering with a small Baltic state country which is both a member of the EU and NATO. The EBG, in combination with the Estonian Internal Security Service, is routinely discovering more about this partnership with the FSB as smugglers are arrested and interrogated in Estonia.

Russia’s relationship with criminal gangs and smuggling networks is indicative of ongoing FSB operations designed to destabilise and even undermine the authority of neighbouring states, including Ukraine and Georgia. The term ‘hybrid warfare’ is now routinely used to characterise Russian behaviour towards near neighbours with due emphasis given to an array of activities including cyber-hacking and criminal activity.

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The smuggling operations in Estonia are a timely reminder that Russian intelligence operations are diversifying from widely publicised cyber-attacks in 2007 to something that is deliberately forcing the Estonians to be ever more vigilant at their border. As seen in Ukraine, the covert relationships with smugglers, although not subtle, are also deliberately intended to obscure FSB involvement and investment.

If Estonia has its own border challenges, then near-neighbour Lithuania is arguably even more challenged by criminal cross-border activity. In cumulative terms, the EU estimates that the evasion of custom duties and taxes costs individual countries such as Estonia and Lithuania billions of Euros in revenue. But the real cost is more than simply tax and revenue. As with drug smuggling in other parts of the world, border security can be undermined by bribery or can be recruited by hostile intelligence agencies to act as spies and enablers.

The Estonian authorities have had some success in resisting cross-border flows of smuggled cigarettes originating from Russia. However, there are other flows to contend with as well – Latvia, Lithuania and Belarus are also engaged in this trafficking. The scale of trade is breathtaking with some estimates pointing to around 250-300 million cigarettes arriving illegally into Estonia and with no tax and duty being paid on those products, losses for the country runs into millions of Euros.

The stakes remain high for Estonia. Russia will continue to recruit smugglers for its own geopolitical purposes. Hybrid warfare is multifarious and it is important to recognise that it encompasses so much more than ‘fake news’ and dodgy social media accounts. What should also be of concern is that places such as Estonia and Ukraine are in effect ‘testing spaces’ for Russian destabilisation. Whatever further revelations might emerge in the US about the 2016 presidential election, countries such as Estonia have been in the front line for much longer – and as a consequence Estonia has become a world leader in cyber-security.

Estonia might also be concerned about support from the US. President Obama visited in September 2014 and spoke of his determination to support the country. The deployment of NATO troops to Estonia in 2017 was a clear sign that it recognises the stakes are very high indeed. But as Trump continues to preoccupy himself with North Korea and China, Estonia continues to glance anxiously eastwards towards a neighbour that is hell-bent on restoring its sphere of influence. Having NATO and EU support is going to be crucial for a long time to come.

Klaus Dodds turns his attention away from Europe, to a referendum shaking up borders in the Middle East

Everywhere you turn at the moment, somebody in Europe seems to be holding a referendum, threatening to have a one, or coping with the messy aftermath of one. While those of us in Europe have probably had ample opportunities to read and listen to news stories about the Brexit and Catalonia referenda (with the latter being declared illegal by the Constitutional Court of Spain), there are others outside of Europe that deserve our collective attention.

The Kurdish referendum would be a prime candidate. In September 2017, an independence vote for the area of Kurdistan in the northern portion of Iraq revealed that over 92 per cent of voters wanted to declare independence. Some three million people voted. While the referendum was declared to be non-binding, the Kurdish Regional Government (KRG) nonetheless used the overwhelming result to posit a vision of an independent Iraqi Kurdistan. The authorities in Baghdad, unsurprisingly, have taken a different view and have been swift to question its legality.

The Kurdish referendum was the culmination of a process that started somewhat earlier. After the collapse of Saddam Hussein’s Iraq, Kurdish separatists were already mobilising their political energies in favour of separation from a country that was created artificially in the aftermath of the disintegration of the Ottoman Empire. Independent from the UK in 1932, Iraq’s territorial and ethnic composition has been subject to schism in the past. But in the post-Saddam era, there was a 2005 referendum which recorded over 95 per cent support for independence from Iraq and in 2014 plans were again afoot to hold a second referendum in Iraqi Kurdistan.

The 2014 plans were put on hold because of the disintegration of Iraq and the onset of civil war and the onslaught of Islamic State in Iraq and Syria. As the authority of Baghdad receded, opportunities existed for the KRG to enhance its autonomy and sense of distinct regional and ethnic identity. The (now ex-)Kurdish president, Masoud Barzani, working with Kurdish political parties such as the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan and Kurdistan Democratic Party agreed upon a referendum for September this year. Apart from a general sense of disillusionment with the Iraqi government, the KRG was also angered by Baghdad’s attempts to prevent Kurdish authorities from exporting oil via Turkey.

International support for the September referendum is divided. Turkey and the US were not in favour of it and threatened sanctions fearing that it might add further to the destabilisation of not only Iraq, but also Turkey, Syria, and Iran.

The referendum occurred at a time when Iraq is having to come to terms with a post-Islamic State era – an epoch where a country has to come to terms with months of devastation and wreckage. But to put the blame on ISIS is to miss a wider context. In 1975, the US betrayed Kurdish separatists at a time when Iran was a close ally. In 1991, the US backed away from previous support after fearing a geopolitical vacuum in Iraq. Post-Saddam Iraq is populated with Iranian stakeholders and their interests.

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Devastated cities in Iraq will need rebuilding. Thousands of people have been internally displaced and/or driven into exile. The position of ethnic and religious minorities inside and outside of Iraq, including Kurdistan to the north, will be precarious. Non-Kurds have already complained that the KRG is using the legacy of conflict to consolidate its control. Anyone who is not Kurdish is likely to face more, not less surveillance and endure marginalisation and dispossession of property. But the KRG is also bearing the price for outsiders reaffirming the territorial and constitutional integrity of Iraq.

There are parliamentary elections in Iraq in 2018 and Kurdish parties are eager to press their demands (and associated grievances). A large minority, namely Sunni Muslims (who make up about 30 per cent of Iraq’s population), is also resentful of Shia-dominated Iraq (with links to Iran). Suspicions and mistrust linger across the country.

Baghdad is wary of Kurdish separatism, and held military exercises with Iran and Turkey in a deliberate attempt to secure regional support for its territorial integrity. Kurdish airports have also been subject to sudden closure by the central government in a deliberate show of force. Visitors to the northern Kurdish region often have a far easier time entering the country than those travelling to Baghdad because the KRG is keen to showcase its regional autonomy and encourage Kurdish connections with the wider world.

The position of the US and Russia will be interesting to watch. Kurdish political leaders might look to Russia for help after encouraging the latter to invest in a pipeline to the Black Sea region. The plan being to bypass Turkey if Ankara’s support cannot be assured. The United States faces a dilemma – having supported and then betrayed Kurds in the 1970s and 1990s. Does the Trump administration undermine the authority of the central government in Baghdad?

Iraq is likely to move against key Kurdish actors who voted in favour of independence in the September referendum. The US and UK have pledged their support for a federal and democratic Iraq. The question remains whether Kurds will garnish enough international support for an independent homeland.

In September, two notable stories emerged about Norway. The first involved the reported value of the much-heralded sovereign wealth fund, known more colloquially as the ‘oil fund’. The net-value of the fund is estimated to be more than $1trillion, which is a staggering achievement for a country that was once largely dependent on fishing as opposed to oil and gas exploration.

Remarkably, the oil fund was only established 25 years ago with the express purpose of investing hydrocarbon revenues for the long-term benefit of the five million-strong Norwegian population. While there are strict rules governing the use and management of the fund, it’s a reminder of how small states can control investment portfolios that are global in scope.

The second story involved the recent Norwegian national election. Held on 11 September, the result saw the country’s prime minister, Erna Solberg, and her Conservative coalition government retain office for another four years. Although the margin of victory was modest, what was notable was that this Conservative-leaning government secured a second term. This last occurred in the 1980s, and Solberg and her government’s coalition partner, the Progress Party, appeared to have benefited from concerns over rising immigration coupled with improvement in the state of Norway’s economy, which had been affected by fluctuating oil prices.

Notably, the 2017 election campaign underscored the divisive role of oil in Norwegian society. While Norwegians have grown accustomed to their accumulated oil wealth, there has been a reluctance to confront the contradictory nature of an industry that is complicit with environmental degradation and global climate change. When discussing further oil and gas exploration in the Norwegian Arctic, it is not uncommon to hear political and industry spokespersons highlighting the safety record of the national operator, Statoil (in which the Norwegian government is a majority stakeholder).

Oil – and the wealth it has brought – has allowed the country to develop a generous welfare system, extensive infrastructure and a commitment to supporting overseas aid and progressive development. The election revealed, however, that a growing number of Norwegians are prepared to challenge what we might think of as the orthodox view of oil and its place in Norway’s present and future and it is not uncommon to hear that Norway needs to think about a post-oil future. The Green and Socialist Parties are leading these calls for change.

Oil exploration has arguably been most controversial in the north of the country, especially around the Lofoten archipelago. It is a stunningly beautiful part of Norway and home not only to impressive mountain peaks and picturesque villages but also a long-established fishing industry. Cod fisheries were once the backbone of the Norwegian economy and have been the major source of export income for the past 1,000 years.

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A rapid growth in tourists, meanwhile, has sparked local debates on whether there is a governance structure in place that can keep pace with visitor numbers. Complicating matters further is the estimate that there may be over one billion barrels of oil with a value of at least $60billion in the surrounding waters.

Public opinion is divided across the country about future oil and gas exploitation. The fate of Lofoten and the neighbouring areas of Vesterålen and Senja has been described as a battle for the ‘soul of the country’. For critics in Norway and beyond, oil drilling is unthinkable in the midst of the Paris Agreement.

For now, it is thought that the returning coalition government will continue a moratorium on oil exploration in the area, but allow other activities to continue further north in the Barents Sea. In 2016, 54 exploration licences were granted and there is talk of offering up even more in the next licensing round starting in January 2018. What opinion polls suggest is that Norway’s political parties may not be reflecting changing public attitudes towards oil and gas, which appear to be far more sympathetic to the idea that oil be ‘left in the ground/seabed’.

The durability of the Lofoten moratorium is largely dependent on political negotiations. Norwegian elections are based on proportional representation so the results are far more likely to generate the necessity for coalition-based governments.

Election observers have to consider how a suite of parties might perform either on the centre-left or centre-right of the political spectrum in any given situation. The Conservative government has often had to find support from up to three other centre-right parties at critical moments such as budget setting. At the time of the 2017 elections, the Labour Party was polling well, but its potential coalition partners were not.

What all the political parties have to confront are some home truths. Norway’s impact on the world has been significant in the post-oil era; ranging from being an essential supplier of natural gas to countries such as the UK, to generously funding overseas aid and development programmes. It is arguably one of the most corrupt-free countries in the world and currently sits at the top of the UN’s World Happiness Report. But all of this sits awkwardly with both global climate change progress and a recognition that Norwegian oil and gas production is in decline.

The challenge for Norway is whether the country can develop a new consensus on what a post-oil future might look and feel like. In other words, can Norway break its addiction to oil?

As the BBC World Service falls silent on local Hong Kong radio, Klaus Dodds reviews what this symbolic step means for the territory's future

Ever since its inauguration, the BBC World Service (formerly the BBC Empire Service, and later the BBC Overseas Service) has considered itself to be ‘Britain’s voice around the world’.

For over 80 years it has been reaching communities across the globe and broadcasting in multiple languages. Welcomed and trusted by many listeners, it has also rubbed up against national governments who do not appreciate a trans-national broadcasting service funded for many years by the Foreign and Commonwealth Office.

The former British colony of Hong Kong, which was re-incorporated into China in 1997, has an interesting history with BBC broadcasting. From the late 1970s, the World Service was available there. The timing was significant. China was leaving behind its ‘cultural revolution’ and in 1979 undertook a reform and open-door policy, a decision motivated by the simple fact that its economy and society was in tatters. Hong Kong began to attract more Chinese immigrants, and the colony became a low-cost labour export processing zone. Hong Kong also began to receive refugees from Vietnam, the so-called ‘boat people’. Many of these were ethnic Chinese and victims of ethnic cleansing in Vietnam.

It is worth remembering that in the midst of the cultural revolution (1966 to 1976), Chinese people caught listening to overseas radio broadcasting ran the risk of being beaten up, publicly humiliated, or worse. Foreign radio was considered bourgeois. English-speaking radio broadcasting would have been considered particularly problematic given Britain’s imperial footprint on the Chinese mainland as well as its ongoing occupation of Hong Kong. So the introduction of BBC World Service broadcasting in the late 197os was no accident of timing. The East Asian relay station was established in an isolated area of the New Territories of Hong Kong in September 1987, and BBC radio infrastructure moved to Thailand after the 1997 handover to China.

Hong Kong listeners, both expatriate and Chinese, could still access the World Service after 1997, and until this year it was easily available. But this September, 30 years after the establishment of the BBC East Asian relay station in Hong Kong, the territories’ public broadcasting service, Radio Television Hong Kong (RTHK), ceased providing 24-hour broadcasting of the BBC World Service. Chinese programmes now fill that listening gap, featuring Mandarin news programming as part of the Chinese National Radio Hong Kong Edition. The choice of language is significant. Reportedly, Mandarin has overtaken English as the second most commonly spoken language in Hong Kong and Mandarin has been strongly promoted by Beijing in the post-handover era.

While we might not be surprised by the decision by RTHK to stop rebroadcasting the World Service, it was interesting to see the rationale for the shift. It was taken, apparently, to ‘enhance the cultural exchange between mainland China and Hong Kong’. In the aftermath of ‘umbrella protests’ in 2014, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) has decided to exercise greater control over this special administrative region of China. Hong Kong news organisations have felt more pressure than ever before not to irritate the CCP.

But other media commentators have highlighted something different. RTHK has a shortage of broadcasting channels, three FM and four AM to be precise. So one explanation for the shift is that RTHK is focusing more on the ‘needs’ of the local audience and rationing foreign broadcasting. RTHK spokespeople were swift to deny any self-censorship. Blaming a shortage of broadcasting channels, however, is a convenient way of making a change that is likely to find favour in Beijing.

The International Federation of Journalists (IFJ) issued a rather more jaundiced judgement about the editorial independence of Hong Kong’s media organisations. Noting that the 1997 handover agreement stipulated that press freedoms should be maintained for at least 50 years (ie. until at least 2047), the IFJ concluded that editorial independence was frayed by mainland Chinese pressure. Media ownership is dominated by mainland Chinese players who are highly sensitive to upsetting the CCP. Taking the World Service off the air is another step towards ‘cleansing’ Hong Kong of its Anglophone broadcasting legacy.

Many residents also complain that Cantonese is also being downgraded in the turn towards Mandarin radio and television broadcasting. Chinese state programming is in the ascendency, and in the aftermath of the umbrella protests there was little local political appetite to resist.

Public faith in RTHK is likely to take a dip as local residents wonder whether the loss of the World Service is another manifestation of ‘mainlandisation’ – the assimilation of Hong Kong into mainland China. A petition was launched for the restoration of the WS with its supporters claiming that such a decision flew in the face of Hong Kong being a ‘global city’. The idea of Hong Kong as a ‘global city’ is, of course, exactly what disturbs the CCP in Beijing – an unsettling cosmopolitanism, eager to access information from elsewhere, such as the BBC.

Chinese officials know only too well that the BBC World Service is considered to be an elemental expression of Britain’s soft power around the world. The 2015 National Security Strategy pledged further funding for broadcasting to areas of the world suffering ‘democratic deficits’. And always bear in mind that countries such as China and Russia are also investing ever more in international media broadcasting.

What happens when a UN stabilisation mission leaves a country in which it had been charged with aiding the restitution of a ‘secure and stable environment’?

In June 2004, the UN established just such a mission (MINUSTAH) in Haiti – a country rocked by natural disasters and geopolitical shakiness – following an earlier Multinational Interim Force (MIF) that was tasked with restoring law and order. The catalyst for the MIF was the abrupt departure of President Jean-Bertrand Aristide following a military coup. Accusations were rife that the coup owed its genesis to US ‘dirty tricks’ and that Aristide’s victory in 2000 was dubious.

The result was to plunge the country into further uncertainty and to bring into office a new president, Boniface Alexandre. MINUSTAH was designed to support the new president’s authority to govern, and a 7,000-strong task force, led by Brazil, was sent to secure the country. However, violence remained prevalent and within a year Brazilian officers were requesting further peacekeeping resources.

One of the most troubling continuities in Haiti’s recent political history has been widespread sexual violence against women and children. Prior to the 2000 election, the country had been under the control of military rulers and before that the François ‘Papa Doc’ and Jean-Claude Duvalier dynasty. Sexual violence was endemic and, disturbingly, UN peacekeepers were accused of being complicit in these crimes.

This atrocious situation worsened after the horrific earthquake in January 2010. More than 200,000 people perished including nearly 100 UN peacekeepers. Some 1.5 million people were left homeless in a country with a total population of around ten million. It was an horrendous blow to a country already in the grip of poverty and precariousness. After the earthquake, the resourcing of MINUSTAH was improved following further challenges including a cholera outbreak in October 2010.

The plight of women and young girls in Haiti in particular deserves greater public recognition. Creating a ‘secure and stable environment’ is laudable but what needs to be recognised is that vulnerability is not equally shared. Wealth, gender, age and location are just some of the factors that ensure that what constitutes ‘security’ and ‘stability’ is complex. For many women, the greatest source of insecurity was (and still is) predatory men taking violent advantage of women lacking secure housing and coping with endemic poverty. The earthquake added further to this prevailing sense of insecurity by destroying existing facilities for victims of sexual abuse. Thousands of Haitians still live in emergency camps seven years later.

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In July this year, the Haitian government, now led by President Jovenel Moïse, announced that a campaign would be launched to re-establish a national army following a hiatus of 22 years. The rationale for the army is two-fold, namely to replace the policing and security roles of MINUSTAH (a UN decision was taken in April 2017 to withdraw) and the ongoing needs of the country in areas such as natural disaster management. Last year, for example, Haiti was buffeted by Hurricane Matthew which caused multiple deaths and property damage.

The restoration of the country’s armed forces is inevitably controversial. For many Haitians, the army remains forever associated with past episodes of military coups, political repression and martial law. For the critics, the re-establishment of the armed forces raises the unwelcome spectre of political violence and legal interference. For proponents, the resurrection signals a return of normality for a country scarred by disaster and disorder. And, critically, a 15,000-strong force would also provide employment opportunities for the country’s many young people who struggle to find adequate opportunities.

The week-long recruitment drive is expected to generate a great deal of interest, but there is another dimension to this decision that needs to be noted. Haiti is a highly unequal country. Wealth and privilege is concentrated in a small business and political elite. The first steps regarding the reconstitution of the armed forces predate the tenure of President Moïse. In 2011, Michel Martelly, a former president, approached Ecuador and asked for help in the training of a small number of individuals. It is estimated that around 150 Haitians benefited from military training from the South American republic.

What is not clear is how Haiti will pay for its 15,000-strong armed force given that the budget being proposed at the moment seemed inadequate. Parliament was asked to allocate only £6.5million for defence and no one really believes this is going to be sufficient. At present, the country struggles to pay the wages of its existing public sector employees.

Regardless of how we might make sense of this recruitment drive, the revitalised Haitian armed forces will have security issues to address. Cross-border smuggling (including the illegal movement of children) and tax evasion involving the Dominican Republic deprive the Haitian government of revenue that is desperately needed to fund public infrastructure and financing of the state.

If the return of the armed forces contributes to meaningful improvement in the lives of ordinary Haitians, then that would be laudable. Violence against women and children has been described as a public health emergency. So making citizens feel safe in an everyday setting is going to be the real challenge.

Klaus Dodds examines the geopolitical fallout which can result from a simple message of peace

Muslims around the world celebrated the ending of Ramadan in July, when it is commonplace to wish one another ‘Eid Mubarak’, a greeting signifying a ‘blessed celebration’ on certain moments of the year such as Eid al-Fitr. This marks the ending of Ramadan and is accompanied by Eid prayers and a celebration involving families and friends. It should be a joyous yet reflective occasion.

National leaders, Muslim and non-Muslim alike, have often used this moment to either deliver a message to their fellow believers or embrace the moment as an opportunity to promote a more inclusive national citizenry. For the vast majority of political leaders, the Eid Mubarak statement should be relatively non-controversial. However, in Nigeria, a country with one of the largest Muslim populations in Africa, this year’s traditional greeting from the presidential leader was mired in problems.

Nigeria has a population of 182 million and the Muslim communities number over 80 million people with Muslim Nigerians mainly living in the north. However, Sunni and Shia Muslims live alongside Christian and other smaller faith communities throughout the country. It’s officially a secular democracy and for the last 40 years, it has been buffeted not only by military interventions and widespread corruption, but also by movements such as Boko Haram demanding that Nigeria become a de facto Islamic Republic with Sharia law replacing the existing architecture of government. As is well known, religious violence plagues the country and thousands have been killed, kidnapped, raped, injured and displaced.

Nigerian President Muhammadu Buhari, elected in March 2015, delivered the presidential Eid al-Fitr message this year. It was a short audio broadcast urging all his fellow citizens to ‘live in peace’ and give generously to the less fortunate. The content of the message itself was relatively uncontroversial, although some criticised it for being too cryptic in places.

Two things did make it controversial though. First, the message was something of a surprise in the light of his departure from the country in May for unspecified medical treatment in the UK. No one knows what is wrong with him and no one appears to know when he will return. One reason the message mattered was that he was determined to respond to rumours that he was not capable of exercising the duties of office. The last time he was seen was via state television in May when more than 80 girls were released after being held by Boko Haram.

The second problem revolved around the presidential choice of language. Nigeria is a country where more than 500 languages are spoken. English is the official tongue and reflects the fact that it was a British colony until independence in 1960. The presidential message, however, was delivered in Hausa, a language that is mainly spoken in Nigeria’s north by some 40 million native speakers.

Critics were quick to express their dissatisfaction on social media with politer commentators suggesting that the use of Hausa instead of English was needlessly divisive. Non-Hausa speakers accused the president of betraying the ideals of the country and some wondered whether it actually was the president given his absence. The president’s aides were accused of a whole manner of things, including not understanding that not all of Nigeria’s Muslim communities speak and understand Hausa. As one critic noted, the decision to use a ‘sectional language’ smacked of misjudgment.

In his short presidential address, Buhari notes that ‘I, again, appeal to all Nigerians to avoid reckless statements or actions against our fellow countrymen.’ The message did not expand on this notion of ‘reckless statements or actions’ and this lack of explicitness attracted further criticism from other community spokespersons. One example that might have been cited is the recent demand by a northern-based Coalition of Arewa youth groups for the Igbo (a community traditionally from southeast Nigeria) to leave the north by October this year. Acting president Yemi Osinbajo condemned this ultimatum as ‘hate speech’.

This is a worrisome development for a country that has suffered greatly from civil war and inter-tribal and ethnic violence. The ultimatum, which has been widely condemned throughout Nigeria, owes its genesis to unsettling memories of events some 50 years ago when the country was consumed in a bitter civil war (the Biafra conflict). Igbo people fled from the north as community leaders in the southeast declared ‘independence’ from Nigeria in 1967. By 1970, the Igbo movement for independence was crushed with one million people killed in the process. There are still pockets of support for an independent republic of Biafra.

What drove the recent ultimatum? It would appear that the coalition simply stated that Igbo ‘are dangerous separatists’, which for others is simply an opportunistic cover-story for resentment over Igbo investment and influence in the north. Regardless, the country’s future is once again being scrutinised and northern communities have been at the epicentre of violence, disruption and displacement.

While undoubtedly well intentioned, a 60-second presidential message managed to provoke a medley of commentary and reaction. Instead of being a source of reassurance, it contributed to further national debate about the long-term future of the country and its leader. Presidential politics in Nigeria involves a delicate balance between northern and southern political personalities, and language is integral to its success.

Klaus Dodds explores the outrage which can ensue when places are criticised

We are used to hearing news about branding and marketing of a place. The award of UK ‘City of Culture’ to Hull has brought forth a welter of such reports. The award has been designed to raise public awareness of the port city as it ‘comes out of the shadows’.

But what is at stake when we bash or trash a place? When we choose to pillory its peoples, a culture and an environment, it can trigger a series of a complex chain of reactions. In March, the director of the Institute for the Study of Canada at McGill University, Andrew Potter, had to resign when he wrote a column in the current affairs magazine, Maclean’s. Entitled, ‘How a snowstorm exposed Quebec’s real problem: social malaise’, Potter used a temporary shutdown of Montreal’s highways to make a rather expansive argument about the province as a whole.

As a former and highly experienced journalist, Potter knows how to write articles designed to garner a readership.

The central conceit of the article was that a snowstorm in Montreal, which led to a whole slew of cars and their passengers being stranded overnight, revealed something rather profound about the character of the province.

Without mincing his words, Potter suggested that Quebec was a ‘low-trust society’ and that the self-image many Québécois had was figuratively and literally misplaced. He said City officials were ‘slow’ to react to the overnight crisis caused by an initial traffic accident and people caught up in the chaos ‘failed’ to do their civic duty. Other areas of social and economic life were targeted in a shopping list of opprobrium. Police officers being insufficiently civil, people seemingly reluctant to volunteer, and communal networks turning out to be fragile. By the end of his editorial, there appeared to be little to celebrate about the province and its ‘selfish’ and ‘indifferent’ residents.

While Potter was talking about a snowstorm, his op-ed unleashed a social media firestorm. Many readers were furious and took to Twitter to vent their anger. Within days, Potter resigned from his directorship, in turn causing questions to be asked about the manner in which academic freedom had been trumped by a popular backlash.

The Premier of Quebec, Philippe Couillard, condemned the prejudicial ‘portrait of Quebec’, which offered up an image of the province that was far from flattering. There was little public expression of support for Potter from senior management at McGill.

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Snow and ice are integral to Quebec’s sense of itself. Since 1955, the province has hosted a modern Québec Winter Carnival, which self-consciously built on an earlier 19th century iteration designed to celebrate the wintery qualities of the province. Winter sports, ice and snow sculptures, skating and parades are regular features of the carnival. As the Québec poet and singer-songwriter Gilles Vigneault’s famously sang: ‘My country is not a country, it’s winter.’

This celebration of a shared appreciation of winter coldness and ice is a world away from the mayhem on Highway 13, and the stranded drivers who complained of freezing in their cars. A snowstorm is often associated with disorientation, chaos and terror, and in some cultures it is seen as the handiwork of the devil. Landscapes, animals and people can, and do, get shaken and stirred. For the American poet, Ralph Waldo Emerson the snowstorm was emblematic of nature’s creative even playful power.

Potter’s storm served as a more virulent proxy revealing, he claimed in his original article deeper truths about the province and its people. He later took to Facebook to express regret at his place stereotyping and his anecdotal observations about Québécois everyday life.

What made things worse, others suspected, was that he was an English-speaking academic and journalist living and working in predominantly Francophone Canada. Quebec stood accused of being too sensitive to criticism, and too eager to condemn critics for their cultural ignorance and insensitivity.

His offending article resurrected memories for some of another article in Maclean’s. Seven years earlier, the magazine published a piece entitled ‘Quebec: the most corrupt province’. It did not pull its punches. Québécois political leaders were accused of being in the pocket of rich party donors. Public life was apparently punctuated by corruption, nepotism, mob violence and blackmail. With historic worries over Quebec’s relationship to federal Canada, it claimed that federal monies had also been allegedly misappropriated.

The Potter article touched a raw nerve for many Québécois who are extremely sensitive to Anglophone Canadian criticism of French-speaking provincial culture and society. It rubbed up against a view of the province embodying community values and provincial solidarity. Premier Couillard was quick to remind Potter and other sceptics that Québécois were perfectly capable of acting in a fraternal manner, not least in the aftermath of the mosque shooting in Quebec City in January this year.

This is not the first time Quebec’s place within the Canadian national imagination has been subject to vigorous debate and even controversy. But it does bring to the fore what is at stake when we describe places and their attributes. When we choose to bash a place, we had best prepare for the blizzards and storms that will inevitably follow.

With the Trump administration pulling out of the Paris Accord, Klaus Dodds looks at the politics at play

Standing in the Rose Garden in the grounds of the White House, President Donald Trump gave a formal statement. His words were not unexpected. But the content and delivery do tell us something interesting about the current president and his vision not only for the United States but also how agreements about climate change can struggle to gain political traction amongst a segment of public opinion.

The speech was suffused with anxiety about America being disempowered and I would suggest ‘feminised’ by rumbustious others like China, India and the European Union. Shifting from a more emotive register on unfairness and restriction, the statement also talked of the financial costs being imposed on a compliant United States.

The presidential statement opened with the following, ‘The United States will withdraw’. Trump deliberately extends his enunciation of the word ‘withdraw’. And in that short gap between the next element of the sentence ‘from the Paris Climate Accord’, he earns some applause from the crowd. It is not clear who makes up the crowd but it would be safe to assume that they are unlikely to be anything but strong supporters of the administration and the presidential vision of ‘Mak[ing] America Great Again’.

The statement goes on to lambaste the Paris Climate Accord (or Paris Agreement under the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change) for being indicative of three things. First, Trump accused ‘Washington’ (which is code for both the previous Obama administration and officials who would instinctively prioritise America’s international responsibilities over domestic interests).

Second, Trump spoke repeatedly of the Accord being ‘unfair’ to the United States. He complained that America was being ‘tied down’ by restriction while others such as India and China were allowed to build power stations and/or receive billions of dollars of aid in order to help them transition to lower carbon emissions. His repeated use of the word ‘coal’ was important because it was intended to highlight the impact that climate change policies have America’s domestic energy interests. Even if the United States has been a beneficiary of the shale gas revolution, Trump positioned the Paris Accord as antithetical to America’s coal industry.

Third, the president positioned the ‘withdrawal’ as a reassertion of America’s sovereignty. By rejecting the Accord de Paris (and note I also think ‘Paris’ carries with it for American Republicans reminders that France did not support the US-led invasion of Iraq in 2003), European countries (and the EU as a whole) are also identified as inimical to US sovereign authority. The relationship between the US and Europe is strained as NATO partners argue over burden sharing.

It would be easy at this point to eviscerate, as many commentators have done so already, Trump’s decision to withdraw as evidence of a derogation of presidential duty. We hardly need to rehearse the president’s previous expressions of climate change denialism. We cannot honestly claim we were surprised by the presidential statement. And if we go back a little further in presidential political time, we would note the decision of President George W Bush not to proceed with the Kyoto Protocol (1997) arguing just like Trump that is was unfair.

But, and here is a big ‘but’, nowhere in the presidential statement does Trump deny climate change.

For all the asperity in the speech, he does not deny climate change science. He speaks of the US being a leader on ‘environmental issues’. He cannot bring himself to use the term ‘climate change’ but he does acknowledge there might at least be something that we need to talk about, even act upon. We might scoff at this claim given the administration’s indifference to lead agencies such as the US Environmental Protection Agency (set up by disgraced Republic president Richard Nixon) and the appointment of a lawyer (Scott Pruitt) as its administrator.

‘The idea of America being ‘tied down’ by a plethora of legally binding commitments is simply false’

And we might take issue with his characterisation of the Paris Agreement as being punctuated by compulsory measures when it would simply be more accurate to talk of ‘Intended Nationally Determined Contributions’ (INDC), which are voluntary pledges. So this idea of America being ‘tied down’ by a plethora of legally binding commitments is simply false. As the second largest emitter in the world, the US pledged to limit greenhouse emissions in the 2020s and be part of a rolling set of negotiations which would review progress on the matter. The INDC of individual countries were not up for negotiation at Paris and no one is going to penalise the US if it failed to meet that target of what then became nationally determined contributions. The clue is in the word ‘nationally determined’ rather than say ‘internationally imposed’.

Trump makes the point that he was elected by the people of Pittsburgh not Paris. But he picked the wrong city. The Mayor of Pittsburgh like many American cities are filled with elected representatives who understand that climate change needs to be urgently addressed. Pittsburgh voted for Hillary Clinton in November 2016. The Mayor of Pittsburgh, Bill Peduto, replied appropriately enough via a tweet that ‘As the Mayor of Pittsburgh, I can assure you that we will follow the guidelines of the Paris Agreement for our people, our economy & future’. The American president may have withdrawn from the Paris Agreement, but America is composed of 50 states and many cities, which do take the matter very seriously indeed. In some cases, they are at the front line of sea level rise and ‘strange weather’.

‘What Trump reveals is how hard it is for him to accept that the world no longer revolves around the United States’

The idea that China is stealing a march on America by being allowed to emit higher level of greenhouse gases until 2030 misses the fundamental point that China is already developing alternative energy generation with considerable gusto. Solar, wind and nuclear energy are part of China’s long-term energy planning. If Trump want to resurrect the US coal industry, he could remove national environmental restrictions posed by the previous Obama administration, but that would not mitigate the enormous impact the US-led shale gas industry has had on domestic energy production and consumption. Trump also underestimates the vitality of the US green energy sector, which accounts for 14 per cent of US energy production.

Trump is tilting at windmills. He is a modern day Don Quixote fighting against imaginary giants. Rather than seeing the windmill as a source of alternative energy, the ‘threats’ that Trump sees on the horizon are giants called ‘burden-sharing’, ‘restriction’ and ‘unfairness’ (but not ‘fake news’). Trump may think he is helping to slay giants posing as windmills, but what he reveals is how hard it is for him to accept that the world no longer revolves around the United States.

Ugandan-born activist and academic, Dr Stella Nyanzi, was – until recently – languishing in jail. Her ‘crime’ was insulting President Yoweri Museveni and First Lady Janet Kataaha Museveni.

Apart from describing the president as a ‘pair of buttocks’, she has doggedly pursued a very public campaign criticising the presidential couple that has not endeared her to the head of state. Almost inevitably #PairofButtocks generated a healthy amount of Twitter traffic and ensured worldwide publicity.

The final straw for Nyanzi was a failure to deliver on a campaign promise. In February, the First Lady, speaking in her official capacity as Minister of Education, confirmed to the Ugandan parliament that there was no money for sanitary towels for poorer girls in rural areas. As the First Lady is parliamentary representative for one of the most deprived regions of the country, this failure was seen as particularly shocking. Weeks earlier, during the 2016 presidential campaign, she had promised to provide free sanitary pads to those poorer girls.

While many Ugandans speak fondly of the First Lady as ‘Mama Janet’, Nyanzi was having none of it, ridiculing the claim that the government lacked sufficient funds. Without such provision, many girls were missing days of schooling, or else being forced to use impromptu devices including paper and grass rather than sanitary products.

For Nyanzi, this apparent apathy was symptomatic of a long-serving presidential figure who can find resources for matters of personal gain and national security but not for everyday issues that matter to girls and women. The Museveni administration pumped money into a conflict against a terror organisation (the Lord’s Resistance Army) in the north of the country and involved itself in regional conflicts in central Africa. President Museveni has been in power since 1986 and, for many foreign observers, is no longer emblematic of a new generation of democratically elected leaders. Instead, he is more likely to be represented as just another ‘strong man’ of African politics who is reluctant to cede power (he won an election in 2016 against a backdrop of accusations of vote rigging and intimidation).

When it comes to gender and matters of sexuality, there is often an unwillingness to discuss either sex education or accept that women can be critics of government. The net result is that many girls in Uganda are not being provided with appropriate information and support.

Homosexuality is outlawed in Uganda. Campaigners such as Kasha Jacqueline Nabagesera have been incredibly forthright and brave in campaigning for LGBT rights in a country where homophobia is rife. Nabagesera has spoken of her experiences of being a university student, being made to sign agreements that she would stop dressing in ‘boy’s clothes’ and being banned from coming within a hundred metres of female dormitories.

Sanitary towels and homophobia reveal something important about domestic Ugandan politics. Poor, young girls are deterred from attending school on a regular basis, while lesbian and gay people are deterred from occupying public space for fear of being subject to homophobic attacks. The legal system of Uganda has been used by critics of both Nyanzi and Nabagesera to silence these outspoken women and this reminds us that when we consider terms like ‘national security’ we are mindful that some citizens might well be rendered insecure and vulnerable as a consequence of law and prejudice.

While campaigning, Nyanzi faced charges of moral decadence and bringing the presidential office into disrepute. The 2011 Computer Misuse Act was cited in the process because she stood accused of ‘offensive communication’ when she posited the suggestion that the Ugandan president was little more than a ‘pair of buttocks’. International legal observers and campaigners accused the Ugandan government of a witch-hunt and condemned the decision to imprison Nyanzi. Her release on bail came only as a result of a threat of her health.

The Women's March in January 2017 highlighted how political the female body has become (Image: Erin Alexis Randolph)

Beyond Uganda, it is also notable that the sanitary towel has been integral to protesting. In 2016, as part of International Women’s Day, activists used sanitary towels to protest against gender discrimination, patriarchy, and taboos around menstruation. Protestors hung their bras and wrote protest notes on sanitary towels on trees during a Women’s March on Washington DC in January 2017.

Elsewhere in the world, campaigners in India have made progress in highlighting the extraordinary lengths many girls and women are having to go to in order to deal with an absence of cheap and hygienic sanitary towels. Prime Minister Modi acknowledged in 2014 that sanitary towels and a lack of adequate toilet facilities were pressing issues for millions of Indian girls and women.

For as long as there is a global tradition of condemning outspoken and controversial women as ‘mad and bad’, female activists will continue to use their bodies, voices and intimate objects such as sanitary towels to campaign for change and speak back against those who wish to control women’s bodies and sexuality.

Last year, the Ukrainian entry 1944 sung by Susana Jamaladinova, also known as Jamala, won the competition just pipping the surprise inclusion of Australia and the Russian competitor who was placed third. Jamala’s victory was controversial because of allegations she had already publicly performed 1944 in 2015. One of the regulations governing the ESC (rule 1.2.1a) places restrictions on public exposure of a proposed entry in order to ensure that all contestants operate on a level-playing field.

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More controversially, the lyrics from 1944 upset Russian listeners because they explicitly confront a decision by Stalin in 1944 to transport more than 240,000 ethnic Tatars from the Crimea region. As an ethnic Tatar from Kyrgyzstan, her lyrics included ‘They kill you all. They kill you all. And say “We’re not guilty, Not guilty.”’ After her victory, she wrapped herself around both the Tatar and Ukrainian flags.

There is history here. In 2009, the Georgian entry We Don’t Wanna Put In was banned for being overtly political (Putin – put in). Georgia refused to change the lyrics as a protest against the short war with Russia in 2008. Georgia was barred from the competition hosted in Moscow that year. Eight years later, Russia was unhappy with the Ukrainian song and its 2016 victory meant that there was some doubt as to whether it would wish to participate in the 2017 ESC. Russian media produced a string of strongly worded articles condemning the result and struggled to accept that the Russian entry came third. It's hard not to detect a proxy war between the two countries.

It all seemed so different in the more optimistic 1990s. Russia became a member of the European Broadcasting Union in 1993. A Swiss-based body, the EBU was established in 1950 to encourage wider European television cooperation of major events such as the ESC and Olympic Games. For many decades, Cold War antagonisms meant that it was overwhelmingly a western European membership body. Russia’s ESC entry in 1994 was indicative of a wider post-Cold War shift. In 2008, Russia won for the first time and placed second in recent competitions, namely 2012 and 2015.

In March 2017, Russia confirmed it would participate in Kiev. The chosen entry was Yulia Samoylova. A wheelchair user, she was to have sung Flame is Burning and the lyrics suggest that the song was a celebration of the power of the Russian-speaking peoples to achieve greatness. Chiming with President Putin’s vision of Russia as a restored great power, her song has already provoked a backlash from Ukrainian media and political sources.

What provoked their collective ire was the revelation that she had performed in Crimea in 2015. As a consequence, it was being argued that she might represent a ‘security threat’ to Ukraine, which remains embroiled in a dispute with Russian-backed separatists in eastern Ukraine. Ukraine has already banned more than 100 Russian cultural figures, including singers, who have been judged to be disrespectful to Ukraine’s territorial integrity and sovereignty.

What Ukraine feared was that the proposed Russian entry was just another element in Russia’s ongoing campaign to destabilise the country. But after a Ukrainian victory commemorating the wartime deportation of Tatars by Stalin, it was always going to be unlikely that the Russians would not respond to what they would perceive as bare-faced provocation. The situation finally came to a head on 22 March when Samoylova was also barred from entering Ukraine for three years, effectively removing her from the ESC.

Lucie Jones represents the UK at the 2017 Eurovision Song Contest. The UK hasn’t won since entering Katrina and the Waves in 1997 (Image: Charlie Clift/Eurovision)

The Russian-Ukrainian spate, however, is not unique in the geopolitical history of the ESC. As British viewers know, hosts including the late Terry Wogan and more recently Graham Norton were never reticent in pointing out bloc and strategic forms of popular and jury voting.

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As a form of popular geopolitics, the ESC has also become a very public site to challenge sexual prejudices. In 2013, Finnish performer Krista Siegfrids song Marry Me was intended to be a protest against the prohibition on same-sex marriage. She performed the first ‘lesbian kiss’ on the ESC. Given that the competition enjoys live coverage, the ‘kiss’ was controversial and revealed interesting fault-lines between socially liberal and conservative European publics. In 1990, the Israeli Dana International was the first transsexual-winner and provoked outrage from conservative and orthodox Israeli citizens. In 2014, Austrian drag-queen Conchita Wurst won, and provoked President Putin to complain that the ESC was a ‘Europe-wide gay parade’.

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The ESC has been a victim of its own popularity. With the ending of the Cold War, the number of entrants increased markedly in the 1990s and led to the introduction of semi-finals. But the ESC also provided a stage for newly independent states to partake in popular nationalism. More competition also created new tensions as long-term financial contributors such as Germany found themselves unable to qualify in 1996. The rules were changed in 2000 to ensure that the UK, Germany, Spain and France always qualified for the final because they helped to fund it.

Intended to be a showcase for European unity, the ESC rarely fails to deliver insights into the contested geopolitics of past, present and even future Europe. The 2017 competition promises to be no different.

Klaus Dodds explores what language can tell us about geopolitical situations

Were you ever told by your parents that ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me’?

In recent months, the South African slang word makwerekwere has become a powerful example of how words can, indeed, be very hurtful. For those caught up in its reach, it can attract deadly consequences.In its narrowest form, it serves as a pejorative description of black African migrants to South Africa. The targeting of migrant black Africans does not distinguish between those who might be refugees and asylum seekers, and those who could have arrived as legal or illegal immigrants. Sometimes other minority groups, such as migrant Bangladeshis, have been caught up in its violent grip. It is a blunderbuss of a word.

In recent months, there have been some shocking news stories involving the use of makwerekwere, and organisations such as the African Diaspora Forum have urged local politicians not to use or promote the term. This appeal came in the wake of a story which featured prominent political figures in Cape Province caught using it in a secretly recorded telephone conversation. But more damningly, there have been repeated stories of migrants being attacked and murdered in the informal settlements in and around Cape Town, Johannesburg, and Pretoria.

The geographies of the anti-migrant violence are pronounced. The principal targets have been Somali and Ethiopian migrants and their shops. In January this year, mob violence erupted after a Somali shopkeeper killed a young South African male while trying to defend his shop from looting. After the killing, angry crowds attacked foreign-owned businesses in Soweto. Shops were looted and burnt, and victims reported the police being slow to intervene. In the past, police officers have been accused of encouraging local community members to loot, burn, and attack foreign-born migrants. Victims have told the South African Human Rights Commission that legal redress is often not feasible because of the danger that it might pose to any returning families. Since 2002, it has been estimated by community groups that around 1,500 Somalis have been killed in South Africa.

The Soweto incident was not isolated. Since the emergence of a post-apartheid South Africa, the country has struggled to contain violent expressions of xenophobia. Indeed, successive governments have been reluctant to accept that a string of attacks against foreign migrants might be anything but ‘violent criminality’. No official statistics are kept on such assaults and it is often non-governmental organisations such as the Somali Community Board of South Africa that have taken it upon themselves to collect such data.

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Critics contend that there might be sinister reasons why this is so, as local political figures and police forces struggle to reconcile the need to uphold the values and obligations of the 1996 South African Constitution with the desperate needs of black South African citizens living in areas that have not seen a great deal of positive change. In many parts of South Africa, poverty and poor infrastructure combine with high levels of youth unemployment. Keeping a semblance of everyday order can be demanding when some residents face very real struggles to survive.

The Somali community in South Africa is estimated to number 140,000 and has expanded after the collapse of Somalia in 1991. One area of interest to the community was the ownership and management of small convenience stores, locally known as Spazas. For many young Somalis, these provide an opportunity to find work in areas with high levels of unemployment, and are a pathway of entry into the business community. From the early 1990s onwards, Somali shopkeepers have attracted violent opposition from local communities, usually because of resentment at their relative wealth and status. But expressions of hatred towards foreigners has also been more wide-ranging, as Somalis and others have faced familiar accusations that they are harbingers of disease, and are guilty of taking employment opportunities away from local South Africans.

Some foreign-born, migrant shop-keepers have been targeted multiple times and their public testimonies make for terrifying reading. Others perished in a manner last seen during the apartheid days when vigilante justice resulted in people being ‘necklaced’: burnt to death by a petrol-filled tyre being set alight while attached to the victim. Disturbingly, some of the perpetrators of these violent incidents have never been brought before the South African courts. Infamously, the 2008 murder of Mozambique-born Ernesto Alfabeto Nhamuave never resulted in any prosecution, despite the publicity surrounding the attack and his death.

South African popular culture has produced incisive artistic engagements with xenophobia and violence. The South African-born director, Neill Blomkamp, was responsible for a science-fiction thriller called District 9. Set in Johannesburg, the film considers how ‘aliens’ are variously accommodated, tolerated and then attacked. The distinction between these states of existence is precarious and prone to changing ‘security atmospheres’. From being welcomed initially as vulnerable refugees, the ‘aliens’ housed in District 9 transmogrify in the human imagination into unwanted ‘prawns’ from which it then becomes easier to kill them. It does not require too much imagination to imagine how the film might have spoken to the xenophobic realities of post-apartheid South Africa.

Klaus Dodds is Professor of Geopolitics at Royal Holloway, University of London and author of Geopolitics: A Very Short Introduction

This was published in the April 2017 edition of Geographical magazine.

Klaus Dodds looks into the deeper political meanings behind the Saudi king’s recent tour of Asia

It sounded like a small-scale military exercise but when the king of Saudi Arabia, King Salman bin Abdulaziz Al-Saud, visited Indonesia in February, the accompanying entourage included nearly 1,000 people and multiple planes scattered around the Malaysian federation. Visiting after an absence from the country of Saudi royal leaders for some 50 years, the king and his ministers were here to sign trade deals valued at $20-25billion depending on various press reports.

The king’s visit also followed in the footsteps of another deal worth $6.5billion surrounding an oil refinery in central Java. The move suits both parties as the Saudis are leveraging their experience and expertise through Saudi Aramco and the Indonesian government is eager to expand the state-owned oil and gas company, Pertamina. An Indonesian-Saudi Arabian energy partnership would capitalise on an earlier partnership plan involving Pertamina and Kuwait Petroleum in 2014 which failed to materialise. So both parties see commercial and geopolitical advantages.

Working with the largest Muslim country in the world makes geopolitical sense for the Saudi kingdom. Economically, the country faces challenges from high domestic energy demand coupled with a desire to retain its lucrative position as the world’s leading oil and gas exporter. Counter-intuitively, this might lead to a situation in which the country becomes an oil importer. Working with the Indonesian oil and gas industry helps to secure not only future investment opportunities for Saudi Aramco but also projects Saudi regional and global influence.

Buried within trade deals with Indonesia lie plans to continue to invest and trade in infrastructure, education, culture, Islamic development, engineering and aviation. Saudi Arabia invests around the world in funding for Arabic language training and Islamic education and Indonesia is a recipient of such largesse. What that might mean for the moderate Muslim country is a moot point because, unlike Saudi Arabia, it has a Christian minority population. Although it only numbers around ten per cent, communities are concentrated outside the main island of Java, in islands such as northern Sumatra, Flores and West Timor.

Pertamina head office. Pertamina is an Indonesian state-owned oil and natural gas corporation based in Jakarta (Image: saiko3p/Shutterstock)

The king of Saudi Arabia, as part of his Asian tour, was scheduled to visit Brunei, China and Japan after an earlier stop-over in Malaysia. What is interesting about the destinations are that they include two Muslim-majority countries with oil and gas interests (Brunei and Malaysia) followed up by the two regional/global powers of Asia.

Looming in the background of the visit is something fundamental. The US-Saudi relationship is not quite so assured as it was once. As is well known, the deal struck decades ago allowed the US to access the hydrocarbon wealth of the kingdom in return for guaranteeing the security of the House of Saud. The stability of Saudi Arabia helped to shape US Cold War geopolitical strategy predicated on supporting other key allies including Israel. A great deal has happened since then. From the American point of view, the role of Saudi citizens in the 9/11 attacks on the US soured the relationship despite attempts to focus attention elsewhere in Iraq. The shale gas revolution in the US helped to reduce dependency on imported oil and gas supplies.

Within Saudi Arabia, historic dependencies on the oil and gas sector are being addressed. In 2017, it was announced that the country would be investing $50billion in renewable energy projects involving solar and wind power. Falling oil prices, new suppliers and domestic energy consumption are driving this investment, as are concerns about the long-term stability of the kingdom. Saudi Arabia is keen to attract new foreign direct investment and Japan is expected to play a role in renewable energy planning. Historically, Japan has had considerable interest in keeping a stable Middle East because of its high levels of oil importation.

The king’s Asian tour was designed to showcase opportunities and counteract fears of a Chinese-Iranian trading relationship. In 2016, President Xi Jinping visited the region and signed deals with Iran. The Chinese visit was significant for a country beset by sanctions and isolation. From a Chinese perspective, reaching out to both Saudi Arabia and Iran fits well with its global plans for a ‘One belt, one road’ initiative, which is designed to strengthen China’s geo-strategic and geo-economic interests across the Euro-Asian landmass.

Visiting China and Japan is an admission on the part of Saudi Arabia that the ‘special relationship’ with the Americans is over. It was becoming clear that the two countries were no longer geopolitically simpatico. Newspapers in the US spoke of a ‘poisoned’ relationship because of the kingdom’s approach to regional geopolitics. Obama was supportive of Saudi intervention in Yemen even if it was militarily reckless and costly to Yemeni citizenry. The two countries did agree that they wanted to remove Colonel Qaddafi from Libya in 2012. Driving their military attacks in Yemen is a belief that the rebels (the Houthis) are funded by Iran. The current Saudi leadership is determined to pursue policies which intensify regional rivalries with Shia-dominated Iran, while the Obama administration was trying to engineer a rapprochement with Iran. President Trump may yet undermine the nuclear deal with Iran but he may find harder to ignore other Saudi interventions.

Saudi Arabia is determined to be a regional and global geopolitical player. It is eager to curtail the role of Iran in the Middle East and reach out through investment and education to the wider Sunni-dominated Muslim community. It is also mindful that Russia has now surpassed the country as the world’s largest producer of oil and that American exports of oil are rising thanks to shale gas exploitation.

President Trump faces a world radically different from his predecessors. Obama’s term of office encapsulated the hopes of an Arab Spring and ended with the disaster of Syria. Saudi Arabia was no supporter of the Arab Spring. A deal with Iran may now flounder. Imported oil is less important to the US. The pursuit of regional stability is more complex. Russia is back as a military player, China is an investor and Iran and Saudi Arabia are engaged in a series of proxy wars around the region.

For all the chatter about the size of the Saudi entourage and its luggage, the Asian tour should be seen as integral to what is called Vision 2030. The kingdom knows it needs to tackle its dependency on oil. Avoiding revolutionary upheaval will require it to address youth unemployment as well. The future cannot be based exclusively on black gold.

There are more to embassies than meet the eye. Klaus Dodds explores the role of these geopolitical tools

The embassy is a material expression of modern diplomacy, often encompassing more than just a single building, as many countries also support an array of resident and diplomatic missions and consulates.

The work of an embassy and its staff is highly varied, from hosting diplomatic receptions to processing visa applications. Under international law, and specifically the 1961 Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations, host nations are expected to respect the rights and duties of staff attached to embassies. The convention reaffirms the special rights and privileges afforded to diplomatic staff and their buildings, including the right to resist inspection by host countries.

Geopolitically, embassies matter. They have been the scenes of notoriety. Few readers of a certain vintage will forget the shocking shooting of WPC Yvonne Fletcher outside the Libyan embassy in April 1984. She was assassinated by someone inside the building and it was not until 1999 that the then leader of Libya, Colonel Gaddafi, finally accepted responsibility. No one was ever charged with the murder and the UK authorities were never able to make an arrest.

Embassies, for much of the Cold War, were also caught up in controversy often being accused of harbouring spies and/or being objects of illegal surveillance. Embassies have also been places of refuge, as demonstrated dramatically in 1979 when the Canadian embassy in Tehran gave protection to six American diplomatic personnel caught up in the US embassy hostage crisis, as depicted in the 2012 film Argo.

A newly-elected Donald Trump reminds us why the location of embassies matters to host states. He is in favour of relocating the US embassy from the coastal metropolis of Tel Aviv, to the historic city of Jerusalem. At present the US has a consulate general in Jerusalem, but it is highly unusual for the embassy to not be located in a capital city. Unwilling to recognise Jerusalem as the historic capital of the state of Israel in 1948, the US choose to locate its embassy elsewhere.

As a result of ongoing conflict with the Palestinians, no country recognises thus far Israel’s claim that Jerusalem is its capital city. The legal and diplomatic status of the city is contested. The controversy is rooted in the legal status of East Jerusalem, annexed by Israel in 1967, which would form the site of a capital city for an independent Palestine. Foreign embassies are overwhelmingly to be found in Tel Aviv, with some countries and other actors, including the Vatican, operating consulates to Jerusalem.

If the US plan did lead to a new embassy in Jerusalem, international observers as well as Palestinian representatives would worry that the contested politics around the city could deteriorate. The newly-appointed US Ambassador to Israel, David Freidman, is widely seen as sympathetic to Israel’s settler policies in the West Bank and mindful of the need for the US to be a close economic and security partner. Israel has approved building permits for more homes in East Jerusalem and a new US embassy would be seen by many as recognising the legitimacy of Israel’s claim that Jerusalem is its capital city.

But we can think about how embassies can work in different ways if we turn our attention to what, say, a Palestinian state might wish to do. If embassies help to confer recognition on host states and their geopolitical ambitions, host states can also facilitate the ambitions of the guest. In January this year, it was announced that President Mahmoud Abbas of the Palestinian Authority met Pope Francis to discuss the creation of a Palestinian embassy in Vatican City. President Abbas expressed his appreciation to the Vatican for facilitating such a development and for being a supporter of a two-state solution.

In November 2012, the Vatican referred to Palestine as a state in the UN debate on accepting Palestine as a non-member observer state. In May 2015, it formally recognised Palestinian statehood. And as part of attempts to promote a peaceful settlement, Pope Francis then invited both Abbas and the late Israeli president, Shimon Peres, to a prayer ceremony.

What is worth bearing in mind is that while the Vatican has expressed its interest in and support for any settlement involving the Holy Land and Jerusalem, there is another element of interest here regarding the recognition of Palestine. In 2015, a UN General Assembly resolution recognised that the Vatican and Palestine, as non-member observer states, should be allowed to raise their flags outside UN buildings. The US and Israel voted against the resolution, arguing it was counter-productive to peaceful negotiations. Others saw it as another step towards the recognition of an independent Palestinian nation-state. What mattered to all parties, therefore, was the manner in which embassies and flags are a crucial element to the politics of recognition.

In their different ways, officials from the Holy See, Palestine, Israel and the US all remind us that embassies are not just buildings. Their work and very existence are integral to the reproduction of the norms and values that inform modern international relations. When embassies shut down, when ambassadors are recalled and diplomats expelled, and when embassies relocate and open elsewhere, we gain fascinating insights into those workings – good and bad.

Klaus Dodds is Professor of Geopolitics at Royal Holloway, University of London and author of Geopolitics: A Very Short Introduction

This was published in the March 2017 edition of Geographical magazine.

Animals can play a central role in diplomacy. Klaus Dodds reports on how it sometimes requires their involvement to achieve results

Last December, during a visit by Japanese journalists, Russian President Vladimir Putin was filmed staring intently at a large dog called Yume. In the video, Putin is shown feeding the dog which stands dutifully on its hind legs.

The dog, an Akita, was actually an official gift to Putin by the Japanese government in 2012, one designed to cultivate cordial relations between the two countries. Putin, showing his control over the animal, allegedly told the attending journalists not to be ‘scared’ of the dog.

It was a masterclass in how Putin conducts diplomacy. The Japanese visitors were visibly unnerved by the barking dog, and in that sense would be joined by German Chancellor Angela Merkel who is also known to be uncomfortable in the presence of large canines. Last January, Putin introduced his pet Labrador Connie to Merkel while they were sitting together. As before, the event was heavily recorded and Merkel was visibly unnerved by the animal. Putin was angry with Merkel and other EU leaders over the impact of sanctions on the Russian economy in the aftermath of the annexation of Crimea and conflict in eastern Ukraine.

Timing wise, the publicity surrounding Yume came at a time when the Russian president stood accused of interfering in the outcome of the 2016 US presidential election. But here, tellingly, was something rather different. Putin being portrayed as someone in complete control of a large and obedient dog (almost Pavlovian you might think). Perhaps suggestive, by way of analogy, of his firm leadership over the large Russian nation-state. He is particularly invested in displaying his ‘masculine leadership’, whether it be stroking a sedated polar bear, or fishing bare-chested in Siberia.

“While they can tug at the heart strings, iconic animals such as dogs, pandas and whales can occasionally help to change the geopolitical mood music”

Inevitably, given Putin’s popularity, there has been something of an Akita boom in Russia. The imprimatur of the Russian president matters. As an icon of street fashion and political loyalty, an Akita now costs around £1,000 or more in Moscow.

Japan is eager to discuss again the fate of the disputed Kuril Islands to the north of the country’s Hokkaido island. The then Soviet Union occupied the territory at the end of the Second World War and retained a military presence ever since. Concerned about expressions of China’s naval power in the South China Sea and Sea of Japan, Prime Minister Shinzo Abe has every incentive to improve Japan’s relationship with Russia. Unbelievably, Russia and Japan have not been able to formally sign a treaty ending hostilities because they remain locked in dispute over the islands. Japan claims, specifically, ownership over four islands in the archipelago.

What makes things harder for Japanese negotiators is that Russia has stationed anti-ballistic missile facilities on Kuril, in a move to apparently protect Russia from the designs of others, whether it be Japan, the United States, China or North Korea. Russia is more interested in promoting joint economic development with Japan in the midst of US and EU sanctions than agreeing to relinquish de facto sovereignty over the islands. Negotiations over their future territorial status are likely to prove frustrating for Japan, and it is unlikely that Putin will be offered a canine companion for Yume. As Putin demonstrated, it was he who was in complete control of that particular Japanese breed of dog.

“It gives cause to wonder in the process why it often takes images of iconic animals to do that sort of work, rather than images and stories of human beings suffering in places like Aleppo”

While they can tug at the heart strings, iconic animals such as dogs, pandas and whales can occasionally help to change the geopolitical mood music. Older readers might remember a famous example involving three whales trapped in Arctic sea ice in the winter of 1988. Dramatised into a film called The Big Miracle, it became emblematic of US-Soviet co-operation. The story started in October of that year when an Alaskan Inupiaq hunter first encountered the trapped whales. After attempts using chainsaws failed to secure their release into open water, a US helicopter was drafted in to puncture holes through the sea ice using a large hammer.

As public attention grew in the US and beyond, the Reagan administration approached the Soviet Union and requested icebreaker assistance in what was termed Operation Breakthrough. Working in tandem, two Soviet vessels, the Admiral Makarov and the Vladimir Arseniev, cleared the sea ice so that the whales could swim into open water. The youngest whale died during the rescue operation but it was never established whether the older two survived.

Criticised later on the grounds of cost and appropriateness, US-Soviet co-operation in the waters off Alaska came at a time of growing superpower rapprochement. While at the time it probably made no sense to throw more than $1million at the rescue operation, it was an extraordinary moment in the geopolitical history of the Cold War. No other region had been so militarised and securitised by both superpowers.

Given recent news regarding the US presidential election and the poor state of US-Russian relations in general over a host of issues from Ukraine and Syria to cyber-security and missile technology, we might look somewhat wistfully at a story like this, when the plight of three whales proved sufficiently compelling for two adversaries to work co-operatively and peacefully. It gives cause to wonder in the process why it often takes images of iconic animals to do that sort of work, rather than images and stories of human beings suffering in places like Aleppo.

Klaus Dodds is Professor of Geopolitics at Royal Holloway, University of London and author of Geopolitics: A Very Short Introduction

This was published in the February 2017 edition of Geographical magazine.

Klaus Dodds reflects on how major political events in 2016 have been influenced by competing visions of the world

The last six months have been extraordinary for the UK and the US. The narrow vote in favour of Brexit and the triumph of Donald Trump carried with them the hopes and fears of millions on either side of the Atlantic.

Much of New Labour’s early electoral success owed a great deal to the idea that Britain was able to leverage advantage from a pooling of interests within the EU, and develop areas of market advantage such as financial services. A financial crash, coupled with rapid immigration from Eastern European member states, dented that sense of Britain profiting from this engagement, and for many UK voters the referendum was a chance to reflect on alternative futures with or without the EU.

Voting patterns suggested that many parts of England were not persuaded by the adage ‘more of the same’, expressing dissatisfaction with traditional political parties and their agendas. Since the 1980s, many of the places that would vote ‘leave’ had been ravaged by deindustrialisation and the spectacular growth of uneven development, resulting in a two-tier Britain. Some were angry that social and economic mobility was sclerotic, others discontent with the vision offered up by EU elites, especially if at the expense of British sovereignty. The past was critical in shaping visions for the future.

“Trump’s nostalgia for a ‘Great America’ played well with working-class voters seeking reassurance in a golden era of past achievement”

Strikingly, after the Brexit vote, the government used #GlobalBritain to conjure up a new world of alternative possibilities of a trading nation unburdened by EU bureaucracy and constraints. A new entrepreneurial Britain would flourish. Geopolitically, #GlobalBritain would capitalise on Commonwealth ties and the ‘special relationship’ with the US. The vision being proposed is modest, namely to better protect UK sovereignty and develop bespoke trading relationships leveraging where possible Britain’s ‘soft power’.

In the US, voters who opted for Trump were seen to be a vanguard of the disaffected – angered by wage stagnation, the loss of secure employment, rising living costs, reduced public services, and more and more people chasing jobs, however poorly they paid. For many, the American dream was now a nightmare even to the extent of registering a loss of ‘white privilege’. Women, ethnic minorities, and immigrants bore the brunt in terms of expressions of anger from others, mainly white Americans and their supporters. #MakeAmericaGreatAgain as a slogan attracted support from across the political landscape. Trump’s nostalgia for a ‘Great America’ played well with working-class voters seeking reassurance in a golden era of past achievement.

Looking backwards is one way of exploring alternative futures. Restoring Britain’s parliamentary sovereignty and resuscitating the American dream still retain tremendous appeal but fundamentally they mask a dilemma – how to reconcile a world of flows with a fixed world of territorial states?

The UK's newspapers offered various alternative visions for the future on the day of the EU referendum (Image: Lenscap Photography)

Governments tell us that they can control ‘the economy’, but we know instinctively that this is very difficult in a world where the market rules supreme. Far easier to imagine a future, by way of contrast, where they promise tighter regulation on the movement of people.

The biggest barrier to articulating alternative visions is inequality. Market mechanisms may promote efficient production and distribution, but they are less able to help when it comes to promoting fairness, justice, and equality. Neoliberal globalisation has been very good at generating wealth, but without strong government/legal intervention the distribution of such wealth is not likely to be even. If you continue to reduce the regulatory burden on business then it is unlikely to resist such a prevailing trend. Free trade is not often fair trade and nor is it likely to be ecologically sustainable.

Inequality touches all our lives and blights futures. The migrant who flees the Middle East and North Africa and travels to Europe might do so because local inequalities coupled with rising food prices due to crop failures make it desirable to do so. State failure and regional conflict merely compounds the desire to move elsewhere. Inequalities persuade citizens to take to the streets and demand that others recognise that their often precarious lives matter.

Inequalities plague the life-chances of many citizens and strangers alike, all of which can disenfranchise and deter a public commitment to a shared polis. Putting up borders, sending paramilitary forces into the streets and regaling citizens with stories about making countries ‘great again’ might be reassuring to some, but ultimately can only be palliative.

Any alternative vision needs to embrace the realities of rising inequalities, ongoing global warming, population increase, and resource exploitation. The promotion of fair trade, new labour-capital relationships, higher environmental standards, stronger corporate accountability, and clear-cut commitments to fund and support public services are fundamental. As is the commitment to speak openly about past and present treatment of marginalised peoples and countries. Britain and the United States owe a great deal of their wealth to colonial exploitation and slave labour, and patterns of inequality are often deep-seated. Our visions about where we might promote more fair, humane, and just geographies and geopolitics need to flourish, and in so doing we will begin to think about how we can imagine alternative worlds less tied to the dictate of unfettered markets and nativism.

Klaus Dodds is Professor of Geopolitics at Royal Holloway, University of London and author of Geopolitics: A Very Short Introduction

This was published in the January 2017 edition of Geographical magazine.

The contents of State’s Attorney Division Case File 3604/2015 presented to the North Gauteng High Court in Pretoria might not seem the most scintillating of places to start a column.

But on the outside of the file itself, someone from the Attorney Division wrote ‘President Omar Al Bashir – Warrants still valid’. While I am not privy to the information in the file, I can hazard a guess as to its contents.

In June 2015, Sudanese president Omar al-Bashir came to Pretoria for an African Union summit. For his alleged involvement in stoking hatred and mass violence in Darfur, Bashir was subject to an arrest warrant from the Hague-based International Criminal Court. With over 120 signatories, the ICC is designed to prosecute those charged with war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide. Upon landing in South Africa, the government, as a signatory to the ICC, could have arrested Bashir. In the event, the Sudanese president was able to leave the summit without being detained. The South African authorities argued that to arrest Bashir was to violate the South African Diplomatic Immunities and Privileges Act (2001).

To arrest or not arrest became a burning question for South African politics and wider international legal opinion. For the non-arresting constituency, arresting a sitting head of state was incompatible with its obligations to the African Union to grant immunity to heads of state in toto. Issues like immunity and extra-territorial interference have always carried great legal and political importance for African governments. As European empires crumbled, the first generation of post-colonial leaders spoke passionately about the need to protect their national sovereignty and territorial integrity.

While the ICC might enjoy a mandate that many would seem as entirely laudable, it is not universally admired or supported. For some critics, the ICC is geographically selective in its legal targeting. There have been complaints that much of the court’s work is overly-focused on African cases and that for all the talk about global human rights projection, it is striking that large nations such as the US, China and Russia have not signed and ratified the Rome Statute, the treaty that established the ICC.

“South Africa’s decision to withdrawal from the ICC tells us something important about the geographies of law. It is uneven”

In October 2016 the South African government announced that it was withdrawing from the ICC after a cabinet discussion confirmed support for the decision. What was notable, however, was that the South African Supreme Court of Appeal had ruled that the obligations of the ICC should have trumped the Diplomatic Immunities and Privileges Act. The withdrawal from the ICC was intended, therefore, to avoid further legal challenges by simply removing that international obligation from any future government. Pretoria trumps The Hague and not the other way around.

Internally, there has been a fierce debate about whether the South African parliament needs to be the one deliberating on the instrument of withdrawal. Section 231 of the country’s Constitution has been poured over and arguments had about whether the executive or legislature has the right to take such action. With its large parliamentary majority, an African National Congress-dominated government is unlikely to struggle to secure the imprimatur of parliament. What might surprise some outsiders is that the ‘rainbow nation’ South Africa of the Nelson Mandela era now seems a distant memory. Liberal commentators in South Africa and elsewhere have mourned the loss of the country’s ‘liberal credentials’ and position as a beacon of African civility. South Africa was the first African country to pass domestic legislation implementing the Rome Statute.

Notably, the decision to withdraw seems to have triggered a ‘contagion effect’. Burundi’s parliament has hinted at withdrawal and Kenya’s president Uhuru Kenyatta (himself subject to an ICC warrant at one stage) has mooted that the country will terminate its association with the court. The African Union has advocated for the creation of an African Court of Justice and Human Rights (under the so-called Malabo Protocol), and if ratified by at least 15 AU members South Africa would be expected to be a major financial contributor. The remit of the court is circumscribed in the sense that African heads of state enjoy immunity. So even if African states decide to leave in numbers, there might be a regional alternative to turn to.

South Africa’s decision to withdrawal from the ICC tells us something important about the geographies of law. It is uneven. The work of the court has been accused of revealing colonial and racist imaginaries. For the critics, the ICC targets African heads of states like Bashir and Kenyatta but has rather less to offer when it comes to addressing the alleged war crimes committed by American, Russian, Saudi Arabian and British governments in Afghanistan, Iraq, Yemen, Ukraine, Georgia and Chechnya. While African governments have often referred ‘African cases’ to the court, what is interesting is the role of the UN Security Council membership (including non-signatories like the US and Russia) which can direct the ICC to investigate. Mindful of its credibility, the ICC did open an investigation into war crime allegations involving Russia and Georgia in 2008. Ukraine, Palestine and Iraq might well follow thereafter as cases.

Klaus Dodds is Professor of Geopolitics at Royal Holloway, University of London and author of Geopolitics: A Very Short Introduction

This was published in the December 2016 edition of Geographical magazine.

Klaus Dodds heads deeper underground to explore the world of subterranean geopolitics

‘Subterranean’ is often used in English to denote two things: first, the processes and events that occur under the Earth’s surface, and second, making reference to the secret and concealed nature of political life.

Some of this can be highly imaginative; many cultures have mythologised about underground worlds filled with earthly forces, extraordinary peoples and secret worlds. As a metaphor, the underground invokes a politics of resistance and subversion and/or the shady world of cartels, terror groups, and secret societies.

Subterranean geopolitics works with the intersection of the geopolitical and geophysical. The underground activities of drug cartels in Mexico provide a good, if sinister, example of what is possible. For the last few years, the US and Mexican governments have uncovered ever more evidence of excavation and tunnelling in and around the borderlands. Some of them will be discovered and destroyed, but it is estimated that while a cross-border tunnel might take six to nine months to dig, it only has to be operational for a few hours in order to recover its construction costs. The tunnel itself might only be 500m in length and the entry/exit points hidden inside warehouses. Some tunnels can be longer and large enough to drive a car through them. The first such drug tunnel was discovered in 1990, and to this day US law enforcement agencies have no idea how many tunnels might be criss-crossing the US-Mexican border.

Tunnels have also proved to be essential accomplices in allowing senior members of Mexican drug cartels to evade capture, notably El Chapo, the former head of the Sinaloa cartel. With drug cartels generating billions of dollars in annual profit, their investment in border infrastructure is uncannily similar to law enforcement agencies in the United States. Both cartels and US border security agencies engage in engineering projects and depend upon geological knowledge and topographical intelligence above and below the ground. The Otay Mesa in the southern part of San Diego, close to the international border, is a low elevation bentonite clay plateau. Clay is easy to dig and excavate, and the Otay Mesa plays host to a number of drug tunnels. As the area in question, close to an immigration check-point, is also a busy warehouse district, it is common to see numerous trucks coming and going.

“We often learn a great deal about how the world works in practice – as we unearth, excavate, immerse, extract, pollute, engineer, detect, and even revere the subterranean world”

Surveillance is challenging because any seismic monitoring of subterranean borderlands is compromised by background noise, and above-ground surveillance often involves making split-second judgements about whether a truck is carrying water melons rather than marijuana. Drug cartels are now investing in newer horizontal directional drill (HDD) technologies, taking advantage of cutting edge developments more commonly associated with the oil and gas industry.

The drugs trade is only one area where the subterranean is an essential accomplice to geopolitical activities. Tunnelling is also a major concern for Israel and Hamas in the ‘border areas’ around Gaza, Israel and Egypt. Israeli security forces have invested heavily in seismic and surveillance technologies in an effort to disrupt and destroy smuggling and military tunnels. Hamas uses tunnels to hide its forces, store weapons including rockets, facilitate covert communication and evade aerial and surface-level detection. Both Israel and Hamas have been engaged in underground warfare and captured Hamas operatives have provided the Israeli defence and security services with further intelligence about the tunnel network criss-crossing into Israel.

In 2014, in an operation called Protective Edge, Israeli forces destroyed 32 tunnels. In September this year, it was announced that the Israeli government was going to invest £400million in further anti-tunnel security measures along the Gaza-Israel border. Arguably the subterranean contributes to an Israeli geopolitical imagination, which literally envisages terror occurring beneath their feet and homes.

A subterranean geopolitics does not just have to be restricted to drugs, terrorism, war and national security. Soil, rock, minerals and the sub-surface are integral to many struggles around the world by indigenous communities. In places such as Bolivia, Canada, Greenland and Papua New Guinea arguments continue to rage over land rights, resource ownership and the enduring legacies of colonial and Cold War patterns of appropriation, occupation, exploitation and pollution.

The dumping and storage of Cold War-era nuclear waste across the United States necessitated a subterranean world of storage units now administered by the Department of Energy’s Office of Legacy Management. Indigenous and aboriginal communities were often caught up in nuclear experimentation, and ancestral relationships to land were dismissed as inconsequential in the face of US and Soviet national security agendas. A subterranean geopolitics needs to be attentive to the toxic legacies of militarism.

By bringing these concerns to the surface, we often learn a great deal about how the world works in practice – as we unearth, excavate, immerse, extract, pollute, engineer, detect, and even revere the subterranean world.

Klaus Dodds is Professor of Geopolitics at Royal Holloway, University of London and author of Geopolitics: A Very Short Introduction

This was published in the November 2016 edition of Geographical magazine.